


Dramatis Personae

by Lucifuge5



Category: Slings & Arrows, due South
Genre: M/M, casefic, crossover AU, ds_c6d_bigbang 2010, post CotW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/pseuds/Lucifuge5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is trying to kill New Burbage Shakespeare Festival artistic director Geoffrey Tennant. To lure his would-be murderer out, Benton Fraser, Geoffrey's real life doppelganger, goes undercover in the surreal and occasionally backstabbing world of the theater. Can Fraser and his husband, Ray Kowalski (formerly of the Chicago Police Department) figure who is trying to get Geoffrey out of the way before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 [due South Big Bang](http://slowestbigbang.com) (link goes to that archive.) Two fangirly thumbs up to the members of Ficfinishing for nudging me towards getting a first draft many moons ago. I'm infinitely grateful to my tremendous First Reader, Mizface, whose excitement and cheering kept me going. A million thanks to the super-fabulous Akamine_chan for the many late-night conversations. Finally, an extra-special-with-Mountie-on-top thank you to the kickass ladies who did Beta duties for this story: Exbex, Primroseburrows and Suzumonoko. The three of you went above and beyond simple comma wrangling draft after draft. I feel like the luckiest fanfic writer out there for having you watch my back as I hopped around with my plot bunnies. *high-fives all of you*
> 
> Some angst, violence and (non-graphic/off camera) animal harm. The timeline is post-CotW for due South and in between Seasons 1 and 2 for Slings and Arrows.
> 
> Written for fun, not profit.

By the time Oliver came to be sitting on the edge of Geoffrey's hospital bed, visiting hours had come and gone. He placed a hand on the leg cast, careful not to wake Geoffrey up. "What do you have to say now? Are you going to continue to tell me that _I'm_ the one who is imagining things?" A cold ache right inside what he would have called his heart—had he been alive—prompted him to get up in a huff. "This is getting ridiculous, Geoffrey! If you won't seek help out of some misguided sense of Byronic heroism then, I will!" he hissed before snapping his fingers and disappearing.

**********

Oliver hadn't meant to drop in unannounced, maybe his friend was painting caribous again or—even worse—settling down for a bowl of afterlife caribou stew. He pushed the hood of his parka back before going up the wooden steps. It felt strange to be wearing so much clothing, especially when it was, for the most part, highly unnecessary. He hadn't _felt_ particularly hungry or cold after dying. On the other hand, the one thing he had learned since passing on was that each ghost built his or her own environment. Which explained the permanent winter where his friend existed.

Also, no matter how treacly it looked to anyone else, he would go as far as it was necessary in order to protect those he cared about. If that meant piling on the clothing like it was a nuclear winter, so be it.

He had curled his right hand into a fist when a thought popped in his head: he _did_ have the alternative to let things _be_. Geoffrey had already decided that ignoring his concerned words was the best recourse. For a moment, he remembered Geoffrey placing his hands over his ears and mumbling 'not again' in a repeat loop when Oliver first mentioned his suspicions to him three weeks ago.

There wasn't any need to spend eternity sitting through Geoffrey's tantrums. After all, he hadn't when he was alive. But he _could_ afford to be obstinate and meddlesome. Ghosts had all the time in the world.

Oliver knocked a couple of times, loud enough that he was sure everyone had heard it all the way back in New Burbage, before waiting for a response. There weren't any sounds coming from inside the cabin.

Perhaps he was going to have to take on this thing by himself, like he did when that horrid redhead tried to butcher the role of Ophelia almost two years back. He was searching his pockets for a pen and some paper—maybe he could leave a note with the offer to come by at a later time—when the door opened with a swoosh.

"Oliver?" Bob was wearing a plaid bathrobe over pajamas and trying not to openly yawn in Oliver's face. "Is it Thursday already?"

"Not that I know." He felt a pang of embarrassment as he looked at his friend's rumpled appearance. "I'm sorry, Bob. Didn't mean to bother you."

"Oh, I get out of bed at dawn, Oliver. Like I've always have. Caroline's visiting her parents for the next two months and that has freed up enough time for me to begin the third chapter of my memoirs." Bob gestured at himself. "No need to dress up if I'm going to end up covered in ink. The level of disorganization that the dry-cleaners in these parts have would shock you. Come on in then. I'll get us some tea to sip by the fire."

Oliver gave him a quick nod before stepping inside. At least Bob hadn't followed his greeting with one of those long-winded 'let me tell you how was it that I ended up catching Grunt McGee with a pencil and a can of soup' stories. Even eternity was not long enough for that. "Thank you, Bob," he said as he placed his coat on a peg by the door and sat down on a wooden chair. "As a matter of fact, I'm not here to break bread so much as wanting to talk to you about something." He leaned his head to the side. "And maybe ask for your help."

The relaxed expression on Bob's face faded into one of worry. "What's wrong, Oliver?"

He told him about his last visit to Geoffrey's as well as his one-time protégé's reluctance to admit that he was in danger. "He appears to believe that everything up to and including the 'fall' from the stage is not in the least pre-mediated. I haven't seen these levels of denial since that time Basil told me he wanted to audition for Iago." Oliver shuddered. "Unfortunately, I haven't been able to figure out who is behind these attacks. And the more I try to talk to Geoffrey, the more he shuts me out." Oliver let go of the now-cool cup of tea, stretching his hands on top of his thighs. "It's a good thing I don't need sleep. I would have been _such_ a mess otherwise."

Bob nodded. "Now that I've gone past the Borderlands, I've often wondered about the true meaning of 'sleeping like the dead'. I always thought it was strange figure of speech and now . . . It's _not_ really sleep as you well know." He shrugged before setting his own cup down. "So you say that someone is targeting him. I wouldn't be wrong to assume that the police have been contacted, right?"

Oliver pursed his lips and gave a half-eye roll. "Oh there have been a couple of jokesters who call themselves detectives, but the more they've sniffed around, the less 'evidence' they've found. The thing that I'm finding the most troubling is that the longer I think about it, the more I get the definitive stink of sabotage."

Bob's gaze went to the door behind Oliver. "Ah. An inside job then."

"That would be the most obvious, wouldn't it? But, no, that doesn't make any sense either!" Oliver threw his hands in the air.

"Because everyone in the festival is so reputable?"

Oliver couldn't help chuckling at the idea of _that_ troupe described as reputable. "Not exactly. It's more like any ill will toward Geoffrey dissolved during last season's triumphant performances. Plus, if someone managed to somehow permanently close the theater down, it would mean a lot of people without a job."

"Interesting."

"And Geoffrey," Oliver exhaled in frustration, "like I've told you. He just doesn't care. Or else he blames . . . ," he waved a hand in the air. "You know . . ."

Bob looked at him with a confused expression.

"Mackers." Oliver was annoyed that nothing had changed in the look of puzzlement in Bob's face. Dead or not, he would definitely **not** mention the play by its name. "That play. The _cursed_ one. Which, of course, it's absolutely ridiculous since he swore up and down that he doesn't believe in the power of the Scottish prince." He crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward, "Besides, he's told all and sundry that he has no intention of directing it, but I think the seed's been planted."

"Ah," Bob said at last, but he still looked like he didn't quite get it. Oliver let it go. Non-theater people, he had decided early in his life, would never understand what sacrifices one had to make in order to give the words power.

"I tell you, Bob, I thought I was stubborn," Oliver said as he looked around his friend's cabin. He couldn't help being a snob about it, but really, why would anyone want to spend eternity surrounded by something out of _White Fang_? Of course, one tended to cling to that which was familiar back when one had a pulse. Hadn't he been haunting the boards for nearly two years now?

"Maybe my son can help," Bob said with a faraway look in his eyes.

Oliver focused his attention back to Bob. "Oh? In what capacity? Has he spent any time in the theatre? Anything I might have heard of?"

"He's a Mountie," Bob replied, radiating pride, "on something of a bumpy track to eventually becoming a Sergeant like I was or perhaps achieving an even higher rank."

Oliver was both puzzled and not for the first time he wondered what kind of person Bob had been when he was alive. "I know that these, ahem, attempts on Geoffrey's life appear to be escalating." He shivered in that subtle way ghosts did as he remembered the young understudy who had a few bites of the poisoned muffin. The poor fella had to get his stomach pumped _twice_. "But, inept or not, the police are already looking around for clues. One more cop is not going to—sorry. I know he's your son, but I fail to see—" He paused upon hearing the nasty edge in his words.

Bob cleared his throat and nodded. "That is exactly the point! You don't know because you haven't used your eyes." He then reclined against the rustic chair, with a small smile that seemed to be daring him to ask.

Oliver rose what he hoped was an aloof eyebrow at Bob's smug look. "So what big revelations have I," he waited for a beat, trying hard to find a better word and failing, "overlooked?"

"I went by your friend Geoffrey's office a week ago." Bob kept going despite the annoyance that appeared on Oliver's face. "Oh, for God's sake, Oliver! He didn't know I was there! I'm not his ghost, you know? But, I was worried about you. It was something you said last week when we were playing cards. I thought it would be good to investigate, albeit in an unofficial manner, use some of my skills like I did that one time someone stole Igloo Joe's sled right before he had to go to town to do laundry. Did I ever tell you—"

"Oh, stop your blathering and get to the point!"

Bob gave him an amused look. "Well, you've never seen my son Benton, have you?" He got up, not waiting for an answer, and walked toward his desk. "Here. Take a look," he said as he extended a picture frame towards Oliver. "What do you think?"

Oliver gasped, in a way that would have seemed overtly dramatic in anyone else, as he stared at a man who was nothing short of the mirror image of Geoffrey. He handed the photograph back to Bob in a daze. Such was the shock of seeing a man who could definitely be Geoffrey's twin that he was unable to recover as quickly as he would have wanted. "What do you have in mind, my friend?"

It became Bob's turn to give him what he could only describe as an impish look that would have rivaled Puck's. "Oh, I have an idea."

**********

Fraser was lying in bed next to Ray, underneath many a cozy layer of quilts, when something in the air tickled his nose until he became semi-conscious. The atmosphere in their bedroom was growing hazy with a scent similar to ozone. He opened a cautious eye and lifted his head to get a better look. The soft movement prompted Ray to mumble something that sounded vaguely Polish and cuddle even more against him. Dief was happily snoring by the bedroom's fireplace. Fraser chose to dismiss the strange feeling of someone watching him on being more asleep than awake. Maybe he should have not had that last moose fajita Ray had made for dinner.

He was about to place his head back on his pillow when a faint "Psst, Benton, over here!" startled him awake once and for all. Fraser twisted his head in the direction of the familiar voice. His father was standing by the doorway, dressed in the red serge and looking somewhat embarrassed to have broken in. Still, he had an air of resolve about him; perhaps, wanting to engage in a serious talk as he invited him to go into the cabin's living room by pointing an index finger toward it.

Fraser couldn't do much but shut his eyes and begin to assess the situation. He wondered if maybe he should move his appointment with the optometrist to an earlier date. Still, he hadn't had any headaches nor had his vision had changed _that_ much since a whole year ago. Unlike Ray, who wore a rather fetching pair of glasses most of the time these days, Fraser's eyesight had only deteriorated to the point of having to wear his reading glasses when picking up a book and such. He opened his eyes and frowned, feeling more confused than scared. This was no slip from his own sanity either. He didn't have to squint to confirm that his father was really back. Again.

"Don't make me wake up the wolf too, son." Fraser Sr. stood even straighter than before. "I'm here in an official capacity. Lives are at stake." At this, he turned around and away from the bedroom door.

Fraser slid away from Ray as subtly as he could. In contrast to his usual sleeping behaviour, Ray didn't struggle much at the separation before settling back into complete slumber with a tired sigh. Physical exertion—_of all kinds_, Fraser mused with a small smile as he thought back to their pre-dinner rendezvous—was one of the best ways to help Ray keep his circadian rhythms in check. Additionally, Ray having chopped enough wood to last them a whole week was a practical way to keep him fit and downright biteable.

There were many thoughts zooming inside his head as he slid what turned out to be Ray's old Chicago Police Department sweatshirt over his torso. Wearing that with his dark red plaid pajama bottoms would most probably look ridiculous to anyone at, he glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, 3:50 in the morning. But, well, one could only get so formal in the face of such an impromptu visit. He closed the bedroom door behind him, thankful of having oiled the hinges the previous Monday, and headed past the living room—ignoring the non-living entity standing in the middle of it—and into the small kitchen. The familiarity found in the process of brewing tea would relax him. In turn, it would make this conversation run much more smoothly. A few minutes later, he was pouring a cup for himself and one for his father. Not that he had ever seen his father ever have tea once he begun to appear to him in Chicago, but there was no need to be rude. After settling down the tea tray on the table and flicking one of the living room lamps on, Fraser had a momentary sense of displacement at realizing how normal it felt to see his father's ghost once again.

His father was standing by the fireplace, studying the framed pictures on the mantel and making small hmms while looking from one photo to the next. He turned around and sat on the chair to Fraser's left but made no movement towards the cup of tea Fraser had pushed toward him.

His father gave him a quick side-ways smile. "Nice to see you settled down, son. You know, I should have seen it coming after the incident on the Henry Allen."

Fraser opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He had never discussed his feelings for Ray with anyone other than Diefenbaker—who kept encouraging him to reciprocate Ray's feelings once they finished their Quest all those years back—much less his own deceased father. At least, not out in the open. He decided to jump over _that_ possibly volatile conversation and get to the end point. Fraser raised his left hand without flourish and showed the platinum ring to his father "We—we're married. As of six months ago." He cleared his throat. "To each other. It's legal now." His face felt too hot in the coldness of the living room.

"Hmm." His father simply nodded and, much to Fraser's continuous surprise, opted to vault right over any talk of grandchildren and birthing hips. It seemed like whatever his father wanted to talk about was actually serious after all.

"Erm, dad," he said as he tugged an ear, "perhaps you could expound as to what is the reason for your sudden appearance. It's been—_too long_, he almost said—nearly seven years since we captured Muldoon and you reunited with Mom and went to the great beyond."

His father shook his head. "Well, in case this is you trying to be subtle, your mother is visiting her folks, but I'm sure that she would send you her love if she knew I was here."

Fraser felt unnerved at his father's casual tone and, for a brief moment, he wished he were as verbally explosive as Ray. Venting his feelings had never been his forte. Instead, he remained silent, as his father pointed at one of the wood carvings on the coffee table. "Elk?"

"Caribou." Fraser rubbed his eyes and sat up. "You mentioned something about life and death when you first showed up?" It was a good thing that he was off from work the following day. Having his sleep cut short by the sudden reappearance of his dead father would have done a number on him if he had had to show up at the Detachment at 0700.

"Yes." His father ran his hand over his chin. "An innocent, well, he's not _exactly_ innocent but his criminal record is more along the line of misdemeanors than anything even remotely brutal. Though I've heard that he did throttle a swan once. All in the midst of a mental breakdown according to what I was told. Anyway, one of my sources has informed me that there is a man who is in grave danger. More so because he is thickheaded when it comes to understanding what is really happening."

Fraser swallowed hard as he tried to keep the rising anger from spilling out of him. It wouldn't do to cause a ruckus. He closed his eyes to hide his disappointment and took a couple of breaths. "So, according to what you've told me, a person who might or might not be some kind of criminal has been targeted and after, let's say, almost a decade since I saw you last, you thought that my continuous involvement with the RCMP was the best, _the only_, reason why you should seek me out once again?" He snapped his mouth shut. He could feel the flush of embarrassment for being so frank rushing to his face, but his father's carefree explanation poked at emotions he thought he had resolved during the hunt for Muldoon.

"You are forging your own life now, son," his father said with strangely glossy eyes, "A newlywed even. My presence would be improper. I've always believed a big part of the reason why your mother and I were so happy was because neither of our parents were anywhere near us. Sure, it made for a hard life, but one that was worth living. In any case, she has never mentioned it to me, but I have a strong feeling that your mother has checked on you a couple of times throughout the years." His father raised a hand. "But that's a conversation for another time, Benton. The window of opportunity for you to slip in, as it were, before a terrible crime is committed is rather narrow. You know, this reminds me of that time I impersonated the barkeeper in that one mule town of Fort Ox. I don't think I ever told you about it. Buck and I were on the trail of a very dangerous—"

"Dad, perhaps . . ." Fraser exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose as he held onto what little patience he had left. "I mean to say, who is impersonating whom? And what does that have to do with this apparent grave danger you keep hinting at than only I can prevent?"

His father looked at him, eyes shining with amusement, which Fraser found even more annoying than anything else at that very moment. "In the order of your questions, _your_ deception will keep everyone at the Shakespeare Festival in New Burbage from meeting a terrible end," he continued as Fraser furrowed his forehead until his eyebrows nearly touched each other. "Others might have their doubts, but I'm sure you'll be completely up to the task, son," Bob said too calmly.

He would have sworn he had detected a glint of mischief in his father's voice. "You know, I myself never had the opportunity to stomp the boards. My mother believed the performing arts to be inductive to all kinds of vices," Bob sniffed. "I would have made a wonderful Mercutio."

Fraser began to feel the prickly tendrils of a headache reaching out and chose to interrupt his father's otherworldly longings for acting. "Ah, what exactly is it that I am to do?"

Fraser Sr. lowered his voice, unnecessarily so since only Fraser could hear him, and leaned forward. "Son, you are going to prevent a murder from occurring."

Fraser's tea was cold by the time his father finished telling the story some twenty minutes later, but he downed it in one long swallow. Everything his father had told him sounded like something out of one of those mid-century American crime movies Dief was such a fan of. He settled the empty cup on the table, gathering his thoughts, almost wishing he were dreaming this whole thing. "So, to recap," he said, rubbing at an eyebrow, "You say that I look enough like Mr. Tennant to go undercover as _him_."

"You are **identical**," his father said matter-of-factly. "Although your hair might be a couple of centimetres too short, but we can always think of a reason for the change in hairstyle."

"We?" Fraser looked around the room.

"Yes, we. But that's not important." His father had an unyielding look on his face, one that worried Fraser. Were the dead able to go mad too? "By the way, the sooner we can get depart for the South, the better."

"Dad, I can't fly away just because you say so. My responsibilities are many. I work at a small detachment, only eight Mounties. And then, there's Ray to think of—"

"The Yank," his father coughed discretely, "Former Chicago Detective Kowalski has to go with you. _You_ can always solve puzzles with logic," he said raising an eyebrow, "but instinct can't be dismissed. And your, ahem, husband has that in spades."

Fraser stared at his father. Not much was making sense. "I see. Well, what about—

"Don't worry," his father cut in with more delight than Frase was comfortable with, "I have thought of everything."

"Yes," Fraser said as he looked at his empty cup, "you have, Dad. But how am I to know—"

He lifted his head only to find out that his father had faded away. "Typical," he said with a pang of bitterness and stood up.

The sky was growing lighter by the time Fraser went back to bed. He yawned as he settled against Ray's back. His father's plan sounded convincing enough to agree to it even though he had no idea of how to propose it to his superior officer. In addition, he was feeling rather silly about agreeing to something as preposterous as pretending to be a theatrical genius like one Mr. Geoffrey Tennant. Especially when he had never met the man.

He woke up five hours later, curled up against one of Ray's pillows. A quickly scribbled note (_We're out of coffee and eggs. Went to town. Love, Ray_) lay crumpled underneath his right hand. He was in the middle of stretching awake when Dief padded into the bedroom and quasi-barked at him.

"No, he didn't want to wake the whole house."

Dief remained unconvinced.

"Yes, I know it's been many years and I did tell him so. He said. Um, no he didn't apologize but—"

A flick of the ear followed by a show of half-wolf teeth made him frown.

"Really, Dief, there's no need to use that kind of language! What would your bitches say if they knew you used such crude words?"

Dief wagged his tail and sat on its haunches.

"Well, that maybe well be, but you know that I prefer it if you use your vocabulary. In any case, he came around to ask for my assistance in an investigation." He flipped the quilts over and sat up. "Now excuse me, I have to use the facilities."

*********

Geoffrey was going through his notes when a stone-faced Oliver popped in. He nodded hello at him and went back to flipping through his worn paperback copy of _Twelfth Night_. Today he was not in the mood for tragedy.

Oliver cleared his throat before coming closer to the bed. "We have to talk."

Geoffrey put his book down. It was too early to sit through one of Oliver's classic dramatic moments, but it wasn't as if he could have walked out if he wanted to. "Is that right?"

"Well, it's either that or trying to come up with something to wear to your funeral." Oliver deadpanned. "Shopping, just in case you don't know, is the pastime of the living."

"Explains the suit. There aren't any tailors in the afterlife then?" He smiled when Oliver rolled his eyes.

"In any case, Geoff, I hope that by ending up here, you can see that things are much more serious than you thought." Oliver pointed at the leg cast. "Today it's a broken leg; who knows what it will be next time!"

"The police have questioned everyone in the company at least twice." Geoffrey tugged an ear. "Not to mention associates and close friends too. Ellen made sure to tell me how very much pissed she was about Sloan being hauled in for interrogation too." She had walked into his office the following day and given him a furious monologue for nearly five minutes. Geoffrey had been rendered speechless. He was still clutching Oliver's skull an hour after she had stormed out. While he had known that Sloan's feelings toward Ellen had been strong, he wasn't aware that Ellen returned those feelings, though perhaps with less intensity. The realization had actually hurt. Somehow, Ellen had moved on past the relationship they had once had.

Some days, he could accept things between them being nearly irrevocably undone. Others, he felt frustrated at still holding feelings for her. Ever since he came back to the New Burbage Shakespeare Festival, however, he and Ellen had a flexible understanding of how to behave toward one another. In spite of all this, Geoffrey hadn't expected to see her so fascinated by a laid back guy like Sloan. He was too young and too apathetic towards anything vaguely theatrical. Sometimes, Geoffrey thought Ellen was dating Sloan because he was the flipside of Geoffrey at that age.

"Well, just because they've been rather useless at getting even a single suspect, doesn't mean that you are out of danger, Geoffrey." Oliver raised a hand like was addressing the Roman Senate. "Therefore, in the face of your natural stubbornness, I've managed to get outside help."

Geoffrey quirked an eyebrow. Oliver's meddling often forced unpredictable results. "What kind of help?"

"The kind that is so atypical one would think it was a play." Oliver waved his hands excitedly. "Now, scoot over and let me tell you all about it. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I want to stand on my feet for hours."

**********

Fraser went through his morning routine in autopilot. The gears in his mind kept cranking over the likelihood of the previous night's conversation being a twisted, psychology-heavy dream. He hadn't dreamed of his parents in years, not since he saw them fade away into the afterlife after capturing Muldoon.

Having discarded the possibility of a damaged mind or an early onset of senility while brushing his teeth, he made the bed and headed to the kitchen to make some oatmeal. A quick glance to the living room had him freeze up mid-step as soon as he saw two mugs, one empty and one untouched, on the coffee table. A strange mix of happiness and melancholy settled in his stomach once he finally accepted the fact that his father had really visited him.

If he was quieter than usual for the next few days, Ray didn't mention it—for which he was infinitely grateful. According to his reappearing—again—father, the path would be cleared for Fraser to go undercover. He wasn't too sure whether or not that would be made possible nor did he know _how_ exactly his father could be able to accomplish that. His thoughts grew a little muddled between the astonishment at seeing his father and the whole life and death matter.

And yet, one morning not even a week later, Inspector MacGyver called him into his office one morning as soon as he showed up at the Detachment. Holding a thick manila envelope in one of his scarred hands, the Inspector offered Fraser a seat before telling Constable Brown over the intercom to hold all calls. "So, Corporal Fraser, I understand that you are familiar with undercover investigative procedures from your days in Chicago."

A cold awareness spread in Fraser's stomach as he replied. "Yes. I assisted Detective First Grade Ray Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department in a few short-term operations." He knew what was coming and yet he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to hear it.

"Well, I believe that your acting talents, as it were, are once again needed." Inspector MacGyver set the envelope next to the telephone before picking up a folder and handing it over to him. "A man's life is in danger. Not to say anything about the survival of one of the Dominion's most important cultural events."

Fraser speed-read the pages of the police reports even though he had already heard the gist of it from his dad. The most chilling thing was how the details in the file validated everything his father had said. He closed the dossier and exhaled. "And you say that the police suspect some kind of foul play?"

Inspector MacGyver reclined as he squinted back at Fraser. "They do, but have been unable to prove anything. The main theory is that the alleged saboteur lurks within the company. Inspector Thatcher has advised the Constabulary about your physical likeness to the potential victim which was then brought to my attention at once."

The last time Fraser had heard about Inspector Thatcher was through Sgt. Frobisher's daughter. Apparently, she was still in the intelligence branch of the RCMP. He tugged an ear. "Do you perhaps have a photograph of Mr. Tennant?"

The Inspector's quirky smile shocked him a little. In the five years he had worked alongside the man, Fraser had only seen Inspector MacGyver's face full of mirth exactly once. Heavy alcohol intake had been a factor in that occasion. "All you have to do if you want to know what the New Burbage Shakespeare Festival Artistic Director's face looks like is stand in front of a mirror, Corporal."

His superior's facetiousness confused him even further. "Sir?"

Inspector MacGyver coughed and his face relaxed into its usual serious expression once again. "Forgive me, Corporal Fraser, for trying to make light of this situation. The truth is I'm somewhat reluctant to let go of one of my best men. Especially now with Constable Patrick still abed with shingles and Constable Blackbear about to go out on maternity leave. But then," he sighed, "orders are orders. In any case, in this package," he said, sliding the bulky manila envelope towards Fraser, "you will find a driver's license as well as any other necessary paperwork for you to complete your assignment. Obviously, you are to travel to New Burbage and remain there until the threat has passed or the suspect is behind bars. Now, because we're considering _everyone_ but the possible victim as the potential malfeasant, you will refrain from going anywhere near RCMP Headquarters. Is that understood?"

Fraser nodded. "Pardon me, Inspector, but then who am I to report to?"

"You will keep contact with the two Detective Constables in charge of the investigation. Anything you might need, you tell them about it and they will, in turn, let us know. It is my understanding that they will step back, make it look as if they are dropping the case. In reality, they will remain available to you. Now, as you are a representative of the RCMP, our superiors expect this matter to be resolved as soon as possible." Inspector MacGyver's face softened. "We've all heard the stories about the Frasers. Your father was a legend long before he fell and you could very well be on your way to becoming one too, your adventures in Chicago notwithstanding."

Fraser remembered his father's strange insistence on having Ray accompany him. He was about to mention something when the Inspector began to talk.

"Oh, one more thing. I know that what I'm about to say will sound completely unorthodox to you. As a matter of fact, it is because something about it is so extraordinary that I'm sure it fits this task to a T. Anyway, I was wondering if it would possible to have your spouse," and at this the Inspector's voice rose a pitch or two, "be your back up? I know that he served in the police department back in Chicago and is also licensed to carry a firearm here."

"Ah, yes, sir. At the moment, Ray has the non-restricted license for hunting purposes of course." His mind wandered to the past, specifically to the first time Ray hunted for their dinner two weeks during their journey to the Beaufort Sea. "I imagine he will apply for the restricted permit sometime in the future. As a former police officer, however, he's well-versed on how to handle a handgun should the situation requires it."

"Excellent. Those are hurdles we don't have to worry about then. Two set of eyes are better than one and all that blither. Now that we have established this operation, it's time to give you the details. You are to leave two days after tomorrow . . . ."

*********

Oliver felt a little self-conscious about calling Bob. The afterlife's phone service was sketchy at best, but he groaned out loud when he considered going over to Bob's cabin for a visit. The very thought of having to plod through snow twice in one week was exhausting.

It only took three rings for Bob to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" Bob's voice sounded tinny.

"Bob? It's Oliver. I've talked to Geoffrey and smoothed things out." He sighed. "Honestly, it took a lot of convincing. I feel like I had to do all of Hamlet's monologues back-to-back while jumping on one foot and juggling three poodles."

"Well, Fraser was a little reluctant to his part of the plan, but he's a Mountie. He knows the price of duty."

Oliver nodded before realizing he was on the phone. "Yes. Well, I'll confess I'm a little nervous actually. But it is exciting, isn't it?" Bob seemed to be giggling and soon, so was he.

"Like tracking a group of lost hikers in the Tundra when your provisions have run out and you're wearing your thinnest pair of mukluks." Bob continued to chortle.

While Oliver had never been to the Tundra—well, prior to dying that is—it wasn't hard to figure out the meaning behind Bob's words. It was heartening to know there was someone whom he could count on. His mind flashed back to Geoffrey and he sobered up. "I'm hoping your idea works."

"Benton is a born Mountie, Oliver. Have faith that he will keep your friend from joining us over here."

There was a burst of static followed by a dial tone before Oliver could reply. He replaced the receiver back on his phone and picked up a well-worn copy of _The Merchant of Venice_.

**********

The next couple of days went by with so many literally last-minute errands that Fraser began to wonder whether it was going to be worth it in the end. Ray, whom he had expected to question having to escort him, was definitely ecstatic at 'playing pretend' for one last time.

"Kinda like old times back at the 2-7, eh, Frase?" Ray's eyes were shining with excitement.

Fraser rubbed an eyebrow. "And you really don't mind coming along, Ray?"

"Well," Ray twisted his mouth, "There's no point in denying that it is weird." He zipped up his bag and proceeded to rub his chin for a couple of breaths, "but it is in the ballpark for your kind of strange. Besides, I would much rather be over there, watching your back, than over here worrying if you're ok while I help Rose nail the Paso Doble once and for all. Anyway, Denise has already approved the leave time. The YouthCenter is not going to fall apart if they are minus one person." He gave Fraser a warm smile that flared a feeling of happy lust inside Fraser. "I ain't one to be wringing my hands, feeling helpless, you know? Never have been."

A flare of relief at Ray's answer burst through Fraser's hunger for Ray. "Ah, yes. I believe you once told me that you are more of a 'doer' than anything else," he said as he wrapped his arms around Ray and began to nuzzle the side of his neck. He placed a few nips on the skin, reveling on the hot taste of Ray.

"Mmm." Ray's dexterous hands travelled down Fraser's back until they were cradling his derriere.

Standing chest to chest, Ray twisted his head until his mouth was against Fraser's ear. Every puff of breath was delicious torture. "Let me show you a little bit of what I like to do. Like the Horizontal Mambo, for example."

Fraser couldn't help but laugh as Ray teased him by bumping against him before applying more pressure until they were heading toward their bedroom. Everything was going to be fine.

*********

"No, Detective Jamison, I can assure you that no one in my family has ever been involved with the RCMP." Geoffrey wished he could get up and pace around the room and shake his frustration off. Being in temporary protective custody, which entailed not getting a discharge from hospital until his 'replacement' arrived, was eating at his doped up nerves. The temptation to hang up the phone and hobble his way back to his apartment grew larger with every other minute, would-be murderer or not.

Oliver's sudden appearance distracted him. "What's that? Oh. When are we meeting with—ah, I see. Well, thank you, Detective." He hung up the phone and directed one of his best glares at Oliver.

"So, what does the good Constable Detective have to say?"

Geoffrey ran his thumb against his eyebrow. "According to Jamison, the Mountie will be here the day after tomorrow. It seems," he sighed, "he is eager to meet me."

"Oh, I'm—"Oliver paused and smiled, "well, not exactly _dying_, but I'm incredibly curious to see your double in the flesh, darling." Oliver's eagerness only managed to annoy Geoffrey even more.

"Wait a minute," he hissed. "You mean to tell me that you've never met him?"

"His photo, Geoffrey. I've only seen a picture of him. Surely I told you that?" He looked completely unperturbed. "It was _very_ convincing. I have an eye for this kind of thing. You should know that by now." He gave him a beatific smile and disappeared.

Geoffrey closed his eyes. For once, the last thing he wanted was Oliver's interference. "Christ! Chrrrist!"

**********

The flight to New Burbage from Tuktokyaktuk was largely uneventful despite the three stops. Having arrived at 10 p.m., Fraser and Ray agreed on going to the Police Department early in the morning. Their suite at the Empire Hotel was modern enough for Ray not to despair about traveling all the way to Ontario only to immerse himself in Shakespeare, as he told Fraser.

For his part, what Fraser liked best was the deluxe mattress and the fresh produce from the convenience store around the corner. _Apparently_, Ray's joie de vivre has been rubbing off much more than I anticipated, he though while getting ready for bed. Ray was already under the covers, holding the dossier up, his expression one of focus. Fraser's eyes trailed down from the black frames of Ray's glasses to the mostly blond stubble on his cheek and the lickable mouth. He divested himself with haste and crawled next to Ray, pushing the file to the floor before licking Ray's collarbone.

Ray swallowed a couple of times. "Hey, I was reading that!"

Fraser slid a hand over Ray's stomach until he got to the right hip, pulling Ray toward him. "Oh, but you already went through it. Several times might I add." He lowered his head and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on that provocative combination of spice, musk and some mystery scent that made him think of as _his_ Ray.

"Ye—yeah, Frase." Ray wrapped a leg around his and slowly ground against him. "But—but. You. I want. Oh, fuck it!"

He felt Ray's kisses all over his face, but it was the soft rasp of Ray's stubble against his skin what excited him the most. Perhaps this version of carpe diem held its own merits. His hands mapping as much of the skin on Ray's back as they could, Fraser grew hard and soon gave himself over to the heady bliss of the moment.

*********

Fraser didn't really know what to expect the following afternoon as they walked down the hallways of CentralHospital. He kept an ear on Ray, who having drunk his habitual two cups of coffee at breakfast, was presently going through one of his customary monologues. It didn't escape Fraser's notice that more than a few of the hospital staff did a double take once they got to the floor Mr. Tennant was on.

He was already a little on edge from his preliminary interview with Detective Constables Jamison and Harris two hours before. They had thrown about words such as _uncanny_ and _surreal_ after looking at him far longer than it was comfortable for someone who wasn't a suspect. What really shaken him up, however, was their insistence that he and Mr. Tennant must be related somehow. His mood didn't improve when Detective Constable Harris gave him a 'friendly' suggestion of DNA testing for both himself and Mr. Tennant. In the spirit of cooperation and maintaining the ideals of the RCMP, he pushed his anger down and replaced it with the kind of silky politeness that would undo most people. He was infinitely grateful for Ray's presence in the interrogation room.

Now that he was face to face with his subject, Fraser wasn't sure if he could see the strong resemblance that both his father and Inspector MacGyver had blathered about in separate occasions. He could acknowledge a passing similarity, enough to maybe be second cousins, but to look alike enough to fool everyone? On the other hand, it could also be possible that he was feeling disturbed by the other man's disheveled look. Geoffrey Tenant stared back at him as visibly shaken as he felt.

Ray elbowed him softly. "Holy shit, Frase! It's like looking at the bizarro version of you!"

Fraser gave him a small smile, the kind only Ray saw because it was quiet enough to go unseen by anyone else, and stepped closer to the bed. "Good morning, Mr. Tennant, my name is Corporal Benton Fraser and I'll be working undercover impersonating you." He nearly fell into his old habit of rattling off the brief explanation of how he had come to liaise with the Chicago Police Department, but caught himself before he could utter a single word. It would make little sense in New Burbage. "This," he said turning to his left, "is Ray Kowalski, my spouse and former First Grade Detective with the Chicago Police Department. He'll be assisting me in this assignment." He felt reassured by Ray's presence next to him.

Geoffrey's eyes flicked from Fraser to Ray and back to Fraser. He opened his mouth, perhaps intending to introduce himself, when, suddenly, he jerked his head to the side and mumbled something to the window.

Ray poked him not-so-discreetly on the ribs. "Hey, Fraser, look, he's just as unhinged as you are! Oh, man, I think this is going to be the easiest undercover assignment I've ever been in on."

Fraser twisted his head to his left and whispered, "Now, Ray, I'm doing this as an explicit order to protect the well-being of one of Canada's important theatrical figures—"

Ray took a step closer to him. "Explicit, huh. And orders, yeah. I'm all over that, Frase, once we get back to our hotel." Ray chuckled, his breath tickling Fraser's left ear, and stepped back. Between the words and the warmth pooling in his stomach, Fraser was momentarily unable to volley back to him.

**********

Geoffrey was unsure of what he was feeling. This Fraser guy looked enough like him to trick most—which was freaky enough—but the fact that he was something of a scrubbed up version of himself . . . that was enough to throw his mind for a loop all over again. He was about to make a crack about 'good twin, evil twin' when Oliver popped out of nowhere.

"What did I tell you, Geoffrey? Is this a good plan or what?" He was wearing a pink fedora and a camel hair trench coat. Geoffrey supposed that was Oliver's idea of being incognito from beyond the grave.

Geoffrey shook his head a couple of times before talking to Oliver. He figured Fraser and his partner had already heard all the gory details of his Hamlet breakdown by now many, many times over.

"Not now, Oliver!" The words came out in a harsh whisper. Just because everyone knew his level of sanity slid to and fro most days didn't mean that he would give the two men in his hospital room a free show.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, but I think Bob forgot to tell me about the homoerotic undertones or maybe he doesn't really know?" Oliver stared at the empty space next to Fraser for a couple of seconds. "I see. Well, that means things will run much more smoothly."

Geoffrey squinted at Oliver. "Who's Bob? And what homo—" He opted to ignore Oliver tsk tsking and focused on the fresh faced version of himself and the slim American detective. Fraser was mildly blushing from something Ray had just murmured in his 'good twin's ear. He looked back at Oliver and raised his eyebrows. "He better be a great actor."

Oliver quirked an arrogant eyebrow. "Well, I haven't read his resume if that's what you're hinting at, darling."

He studied Fraser, appraising him. "Physically he'll do," he admitted begrudgingly to a smug Oliver.

For his part, Oliver was almost ignoring him, staring instead at the two men, with more-than-apparent interest in that partnership. "Hmm, the hair's too short. We'll have to think of something. I do wonder about his Shakespeare."

Geoffrey felt a mild impulse to defend Fraser. "He enunciates well."

Oliver put a hand on his hip. "But can he direct?"

Geoffrey knocked on his leg cast in lieu of knocking wood.

**********

Ray gave Fraser a sideways look. "Who's he talking to again?" The pitch in Ray's tone of voice helped him figure out that Ray no longer seemed amused by Mr. Tennant's mumblings.

Fraser looked at his dad and tilted his head at Mr. Tennant. For once, Fraser Sr. kept his lips shut as he shook his head dismissively. Fraser whispered back to Ray. "I, erm, I don't think that's important right now. What matters is that we're here to protect him."

**********

"Think of this as one of your clandestine productions, Geoffrey. Something like the minimalistic _King John_ you did during your first season at Theatre Sans Argent," Oliver said not quite looking at him. He shrugged a shoulder and disappeared into the ether.

Geoffrey rolled his eyes—leave it to Oliver to still be sore at him for not returning to the Festival once the review board deemed his mental stability acceptable. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering if his friend would ever find peace, before turning his head towards the two visitors. "The good thing is that now that you are here, I'll finally be able to go home tomorrow. Between the terrible ooze they try to pass of as coffee and the lack of good reading material, I'm almost tempted to think I'm still back in the mental institution. Since the police seem to think that my life is in 'grave danger' to quote one Detective Constable Jamison, no one other than police and hospital staff has been authorized to come into my room. I've kept in touch with Anna via the phone, told her I have a severely twisted ankle from slipping off the stage," he looked at the empty space where Oliver had been mere seconds before, "and that I want to take some time off to get mobile again. That'll give us, uh, almost a week and a half before the company gets together again. Come by my apartment tomorrow after one. We'll start _our_ rehearsal then." He tugged an ear absentmindedly as Fraser stood even straighter and Ray gave him a wary look.

Next, his clean-cut 'twin' and the American looked at each other. Fraser settled down first. "Ahem, very well. Solid plan. Ray and I want to go through the files we obtained from the local police department and work on our end of things. Good-bye, Mr. Tennant. We hope to find you well-rested when we meet again."

Geoffrey wanted to bristle at the formality of Fraser's words, unnerving not just in their stiffness, but in the fact that they came from someone who would most definitely be his doppelganger. He let the moment pass, choosing instead to ask both men to bring a few "disposable blades for chewing" over to his apartment when they came over. They were almost by the door when they froze at Geoffrey's words and began mumbling to one another.

**********

Ray wrinkled his eyebrows. "Did he just say blades? Who the hell is this guy, Frase, Freddy Krueger?"

"It'll be all right," Fraser said in a sotto voce, looking at his father out of the corner of his eye. He then raised his voice to its normal level and turned to face his 'twin'. "We will, Mr. Tennant."

The scruffy man on the bed squinted back at him. "Please, call me Geoffrey."

**********

The following day, they were standing in front of what looked like an abandoned building. "Are you sure this is where he lives?" Ray lowered his sunglasses and gave Fraser a doubtful look. The front door was made of metal; there were two nests of pigeons on the second floor. "People live here?" Ray raised a quizzical eyebrow. "This place looks like it could be a location for some futuristic ghetto movie."

Fraser held the hotel stationery where he had scribbled down the address at arms length and then read the numbers on the door. He shouldn't have left his glasses at the hotel. "We are here, Ray. It seems like Mr. Tennant likes industrial spaces."

"Or else the rent here is cheap enough to balance not having hot water all the time." Ray took his sunglasses off and replaced them with his everyday ones. "Pitter-patter, Frase. We ain't getting any younger."

Fraser nodded sharply before ringing the doorbell. A click greeted him whenever he pressed on the button.

Ray began to shake his head. "Nah, Frase, it looks like the doorbell's broken. Let's just go in. He said after one p.m. right?" Fraser hmmed. "Well, it's about fifteen minutes to two so, we have plenty of time."

**********

Geoffrey was lost in a dream where he was playing Parcheesi with Oliver on stage.

"Your pancakes will burn," Oliver had said as he captured one of the red pawns.

"It'll happen one way or the other," he had retorted as he rolled the die.

Oliver slid out of his always-pristine white jacket. He twisted his mouth as he saw Geoffrey count the spaces on the board and land 20 places from the exit. The sound of the die shaking in Oliver's hand bounced all around them. Wherever this dream theater was, it had fantastic acoustics. "May I ask," Oliver said as he threw the die and moved his green pawn forward three spaces, "why Parcheesi?"

The words 'bite me' were on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue, but he decided to think about it.

Oliver pushed a little more like always did. "I mean, this is _your_ dream. The dead don't sleep, remember?"

He tugged an ear, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at talking about all of this, before extending his hand and offering the die to Oliver. "It was my favourite game as a kid. That and Clue."

Oliver gave him one of his smuggest looks. "Not so fun from the inside, eh?"

Geoffrey was about to answer when his eyes popped open. He sat up, clad in a t-shirt and boxers. Oliver was always extra-snippy in his dreams. He looked at the pain meds with a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and apprehension. After spending eight long years lost in a fog of heavy medication, he sensed his apprehension growing, but the pain in his leg was unrelenting.

There was a slight tremor in his hand as he reached out towards the prescription bottle. The throbbing in his leg had been growing steadily from the moment he reached his loft, but he had been too tired then to do anything more than undress, take a pill and pass out on the sofa. With a heavy sigh, he uncapped the bottle and reluctantly dry-swallowed a couple of pills.

*********

"The intercom's busted too," Ray said, scratching the back of his head.

For a moment, Fraser thought of trying Mr. Tennant's phone again. "We could wait until someone leaves or comes into the building."

"Yeah," Ray said. "We could. Or, better even, I could wiggle a card like I did back when you lived at the Consulate—"

"Breaking and entering, Ray? You do remember that you _are_ now a citizen of this country, right?"

"Hardy-har-har, Frase," Ray said as he flipped open his wallet. "It's either that or waiting around for some lost soul to come open the door for us. We ain't got time for that."

*********

Geoffrey was still feeling muzzy as he attempted to stretch back on the sofa; next time he would take one pill instead of two. There were two voices coming through the thin front door. One had a slight nasal pitch to it while the other sounded disturbingly like his own. He made a face, fighting his way back to complete wakefulness, as the conversation outside took on strange proportions.

"It's only the Mountie and his pet American." Oliver's voice echoed in the living room. "Shouldn't you try to open the door before they skedaddle?"

He ran his hands back and forth over his face. Standing in front of the south window and wearing his usual blindingly white suit, Oliver looked sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Like an old photograph fading at the edges. Geoffrey rubbed his eyes, trying to snap some neurons into action, while Oliver kept rambling on. There were cobwebs in his mind. "Would it be too much for you to shut up? Not that being dead has ever stopped you . . . ."

Oliver gave him a warm look and shrugged. "Well, you are bound to have scrambled eggs for brains right around now, "Oliver answered as he jerked his head towards the pill bottle. "And you need me, Geoffrey, really need me, if you want to help the Mountie fool them all."

"Fraser, his name is Fraser," Geoffrey whispered. He felt his mouth contort into a grimace as he wobbled his way into an upright position while slipping into his dark blue bathrobe. "Hold on a sec!" he yelled in the direction of the door as he hopped his way over there.

"Besides," Oliver said sadly as he looked out the window once again, "being here is much more entertaining than playing Foolhardy Canasta with the group. Henrik always cheats no matter who he's paired up with. Bob says it has to do with his spending time in Dresden."

**********

"And I'm telling you he's there!" Ray began to count off with his fingers. "Discharged right after lunch, took a cab over here, has a broken leg. Ain't many places a guy like that would be able to go, you know?"

"Yes, of course, Ray." Fraser knew his tone came off as snooty. He pulled on the edge of his shirt. "Perhaps he's resting? We can always come back later."

"Not that I will actually do it, Frase, but I would really like to kick you in the head right about now. We didn't fly all the way here, put our lives, _our honeymoon_, on hold so that you could have a mini-freak out at this mothereffin' juncture, okay?" Ray squinted back at him and Fraser was certain Ray was able to catch him flinching. "Huh. That is it, isn't it?"

Fraser exhaled with surprised relief. Ray's intuition had hit the jackpot. "I don't—I—Erm." Back at the hospital, he had been reluctant to admit that Geoffrey and he were remarkably alike. Deep down, however, he had felt disturbed by their resemblance to each other. Maybe he could ask his father, sooner rather than later, if he had had any other dalliances after his mother's murder. Stranger things had happened in his life. An unexpected warmth next to him shook him out of his thoughts.

"It'll be okay, Benton." Ray took his right hand and squeezed it.

The solid pressure combined with Ray's use of his first name quelled some of his anxiety. He squared his shoulders as he remembered promising Ray on their wedding day 'never to let things fester'. He licked his lips as the words struggled out of his mouth. "It's a trivial matter, but—"

"That don't mean it's not freaky. I get it, Frase," Ray cut in. "Tell you what, how about you go do what you have to do, hmm? In any case, from what I've read in his files, this Geoffrey guy might give you the chance to misbehave."

He didn't fight the urge to smile after seeing Ray wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. Suddenly, the door opened and there stood one sleepy-faced Geoffrey. It was Fraser's assessment that Geoffrey Tennant had surpassed yesterday's rumpled demeanor. He looked, well, wrinkled.

"Oh dear."

**********

Someone else would have let their hands go upon being 'caught' in a tender moment. Geoffrey, however, would have never guessed Ray to be the shy type. The guy exuded a friendly sort of cockiness that read as 'no bullshit'. Kinda like the flip version of Darren Nichols. His 'good twin', however, was another matter entirely. Everything about the way Fraser carried himself stated the word 'discretion'. Geoffrey held on to the door, if only to relieve the pressure on his left leg. "Come on in. My leg is killing me."

Ray gave him a quick nod and stepped first, pulling Fraser's hand, leading him inside with an easy gait that would read as casual on the stage. Geoffrey wondered if Ray had taken acting lessons at one point in his life. He was about to make some remark about the two of them being joined at the hip, when his eyes shifted over to where Oliver was. His ghost friend stood up, looking like he was on the verge of bursting with happiness, and waved at the empty air next to Fraser's left side.

**********

Fraser had always found comfort in silence. He could usually outwait anyone in starting a conversation without feeling even a shadow of embarrassment—a result of his rural upbringing combined with his natural stubbornness. Other than Dief, who would always bust into non-stop begging at the sight of food, Ray was the only person Fraser knew who could turn the silent treatment into sheer torture.

Everything about the quiet standoff currently going on in Geoffrey's living room prompted Fraser to curl into himself this time around. Standing in the haphazard clutter of the loft, he was unable to fight the wave of anxiety that manifested itself as an unnerving stiffness. His mind was as frozen as his body. Geoffrey stared back at him, his eyes wary even as his face was relaxed. Fraser looked over at Ray, willing him to take over.

"So. Um . . . ." Ray closed his mouth and sat on the sofa.

He soon followed, his uneasiness growing with each ticking second. There was nothing auspicious about this. For the first time in his life, the silence was too much for him. "Ah, yes."

**********

Fraser looked uncomfortable. Like someone on the first day of previews feeling certain that the production was going to be a flop. Those blue-gray eyes, so much like his own, did a circuit around the room before turning back to him.

Geoffrey's insides flipped when he saw his alter ego tug an ear a few times. He decided it was time to step in. "That's good!" he said pointing at Fraser whose face had gotten red upon being called out. "Picked it up back at the hospital, right? The funny thing is that I would have never thought you'd begin to mimic me already. I mean, because you're not an actor, you know?"

Fraser and Ray glanced at each other for a beat before looking back at him. Then, both men spoke at once.

"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?'

"Mimic? You mean like one of those mute clowns?"

Geoffrey held his hands up. "One at a time, okay? The drugs are making everything a little, uh, bumpy." He felt the ghost of a smile on his face. This whole thing could have been funny if the overall eerie factor flipped down a pitch or two.

Meanwhile, Oliver had walked over to where Fraser was standing and studied his face. "Are you sure you're not brothers?" he asked without turning around.

"No. I don't know. I'm not sure," Geoffrey answered, his shoulders dropping with every word, his mind was alternating between near-clarity and fuzziness. Maybe he could have some coffee. The sooner, the better. He scrunched his face and turned away from a fascinated Oliver. "The process and all that madness. I wasn't expecting it," he said as he fluttered a hand in the air before looking at Fraser. "You see, I wouldn't have pegged you for the Method type."

A flicker of recognition went through Fraser's eyes. "Hmm, no. Despite being familiar with the teachings of Mr. Strasberg and the Group Theater collectives, I am not pretending to be you nor imitating any of your mannerisms."

Ray chuckled. "Yeah, Frase is a universe of Top 40 hits like ear-tugging, neck-cracking, lip-licking and the infamous eyebrow rubbing. The funny thing is that he'll clean you out if you play poker with him," Ray said as he looked back and forth between the two men.

Geoffrey put his hand on his mouth as he saw Oliver give him a nearly manic grin and two enthusiastic thumbs up.

"Huh. Now I'm confused." He looked at Oliver, hoping that the ghost's penchant for meddling would prompt him to offer him some otherworldly guidance.

Fraser raised his hand, closed fist, thumb sticking out. Geoffrey realized that Fraser was about to flick his thumbnail against his eyebrow when he turned to the side and tilted his head as if listening in to someone who, simply, wasn't there. Maybe it was Ray's familiarity with all of Fraser's quirks what kept him from making any kind of reaction at Fraser's almost imperceptible nod and mumbled a 'won't be satisfied until then.'

Fraser kept his head away from him and looked at him from under familiar eyelashes. "Have you ever been west, Geoffrey?" He sighed.

He softly shook his head no. "Never been as far out as Manitoba even." He paused for a moment. "No, I'm wrong. I flew out to Vancouver once. Oliver wanted me to check out some up and coming actor for our troupe, but the guy never showed up. Got sick or something." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You? Do you have family here?"

"I was born in the Territories, spent some time as far south as Moose Jaw before I went to Chicago," Fraser replied with a calm face. "My father lived in Canada all of his life, but I don't think he ever headed East except for his time at Depot. At least, he never told me anything to make me think that I might have a sibling this far East," Fraser said in a slightly acidic tone, eyes practically fixed to his left side as if he was giving someone the stinky eye.

"Anyways, less chatter and more prep, what do you think?" Ray interrupted. "Why don't you tell us how this whole thing got started?"

**********

Fraser got a slight thrill at seeing Ray ease into his Chicago-days detective persona. Everything that had previously been relaxed had grown alert. He could feel Ray's focus on Geoffrey sharpen and had a strange mix of excitement and jealousy. Deciding to set those feelings aside, he opted for joining the conversation. "I understand it began with a falling light fixture, is that correct?"

Geoffrey seemed to still be more asleep than awake as he answered. "Morrigan, that's one of our light techs, had finished installing a set of small lights a couple of days before. We were beginning rehearsals, playing around with the blocking--"

"That's the positioning of the actors onstage, Ray," Fraser cut in.

"Uh-huh." Ray picked up his cue just like when they were working partners. He then jerked his head toward Geoffrey. "So who was there?"

"Well, Maria, our stage manager, was about twelve rows from the stage. Cyril and Frank were sitting on the first row. Mark, Gary, Joan and Nina were also sitting though on the stage. Finally, James, Ellen and I were standing center stage. I was trying to get James' motivation for Malvolio when we all heard a snap, looked up and James pushed me to the side. The lights fell; he got a minor concussion from the impact.

"And no one else was there?" Fraser kept his tone neutral, the better to keep Geoffrey talking.

Geoffrey shook his head. "No. Wait a minute, Nahum was stage right," he closed his eyes," and Darren and Pex, his PA, were sitting all the way at the back of the room. Almost by the doors."

Fraser exchanged a look with Ray. "Darren Nichols, professed rival of yours since before you arrive at New Burbage, correct?"

"Uh-huh. My very own nemesis." Geoffrey gazed at Fraser. "I stabbed him once." He paused and looked toward the window before nodding. "No, twice. The last time was last year."

Ray tilted his head. "And you were going to filet him because?"

"He was determined to direct _Hamlet_. I mean, out of all plays! I knew he was going to make it into one of his usual clusterfucks. It would have been a desecration of the finest play in the Western world. His ideas were—" He grimaced. "What with the horseshit and the fire . . . Anyway, there was a disagreement."

He nodded, remembering the file Inspector MacGyver had given him. "According to the police report, the disagreement escalated into a duel, followed by a riot. Everyone including the hostess of the party ended up in jail. You underwent a psych evaluation the morning following the incident as a condition of your release."

Geoffrey shrugged. "Actors. It was hot air and madness and a broken heart. The duel was . . . spectacular," he laughed, "well, after a while, everyone was egging me on."

"Hmm." _A violent past_, thought Fraser. Rather than wait and file that away, he pushed a little. "So, revenge could be a motive then? For Mr. Nichols, I mean. For having been so humiliated?" Out of the corner of his eyes, Ray gave him a noncommittal shrug.

"No. It's not like that. Or, well, yes, we have always hated each other. All the way back to university, but I don't know what would even—" he stopped and exhaled. "Listen, the police already asked me these questions. Are they really necessary?"

"If you want to keep on breathing," Ray said, arms crossed, attitude in spades, "you better keep talking."

Fraser thought treating Geoffrey like a hostile could be counterproductive. "So, the second incident?" He prompted.

"It was during the first read through. Ellen had sent Maria out to get pastries and smokes," Geoffrey recounted, "but our usual cafe was closed so, she called the Cruller Life, a bakery on 51st Street, to have some food sent over. I kept the actors busy running lines until the snacks got there. By the time we finished the second act, there was only a banana muffin left in the box. Huh." At this point, Geoffrey stopped and gave a tired exhale. To Fraser's eyes, it looked like perhaps Geoffrey was finally acknowledging how close he had been to becoming a fatality. "Anyways, I wasn't hungry. And so, feeling eager to return to work, I let someone else have the muffin. Daniel, Mark's understudy, picked it up instead and began to nibble it. He was saying that it was too sweet before he dropped to the floor and fell down grabbing his stomach. We were, obviously, paying attention to him and forgot all about the muffin. By the time the police arrived and began searching, whatever remained of the muffin had disappeared. I don't know who might have taken it. Could have been anyone."

Fraser turned to Ray, his face serious. "Mr. Daniel Han consumed approximately 1/20th of the muffin in question. And yet, according to the medical reports, the doctors surmised that he was truly lucky to be alive."

"Yes," Geoffrey nodded absentmindedly. "After that, we closed all the rehearsals for a couple of days. No one was happy about that, but we couldn't do much. The Swan was chaotic with the police and dogs and the press." He shifted his view to the window and mouthed what looked like 'Basil' to it.

Fraser decided that some things did not need explanations.

Ray jumped in. "And the same people were there right? For the read through, I mean."

"Richard showed up at the beginning." Geoffrey rolled his eyes heavenward. "He likes to think of himself as a theater connoisseur nowadays. Other than that, yes, everyone up to and including Darren and his assistant were there. I think he wanted to woo Ellen for a turn at his _Othello_." He leaned in as if he was going to tell them some deep dark secret. "Between you and me, I think Darren's bluffing. Ellen is nowhere near the age to play the nurse, you know. But Desdemona?" He sat back and shook his head.

"Maybe he wants to goad you into battle or something?" Ray twisted his head and winked at Fraser.

Geoffrey picked up the end of the bathrobe belt and started to tug at it. His next words were almost a mumble. "Well, Darren's no Richard III, whatever his plans about Ellen are."

**********

Everything in Geoffrey's body was cold. It was the meds, but a big part of the chills came from talking about all this. Even gliding down the slippery path of painkillers couldn't hide his growing uncertainty. Maybe these _were_ attempts on his life?

Ray twisted his mouth, making a few quick circles with his hands. "So this last time?"

"Well, I was walking offstage when, the lights went off and I fell." He bit his lip. "I—"

"You were pushed, Geoffrey, and you know it!" Oliver hissed.

*********

Fraser followed Geoffrey's angry gaze towards the window. "Ahem. And there was no one around?"

Geoffrey looked distracted. Perhaps he was still feeling the heavier effects of sedation? "Maria was in the booth with Morrigan, but they couldn't see anymore than I could. This was the second day of the dry tech rehearsal."

Fraser turned his head toward Ray "That's the one for tech crew only, Ray. The actors don't come in—"Seeing his father lean toward the empty space next to him and talk to nothing prompted his mid-sentence pause. He couldn't quite catch what the words were, but the image of his father practically screaming with laughter shook Fraser out of his stupor "Ah. I mean. The actors don't have any reason to be around the stage at that time." He licked his lips in an attempt to conceal his lack of attention to the _living_ people in the room.

Ray's sideways glance and raised eyebrows practically telegraphed some kind of remark about his psychological well-being.

Meanwhile, Geoffrey stared at him like he was trying to understand the reason for his lapse in manners.

**********

His stomach's grumbling helped fizz some of the tension out of the room. For a brief moment, Geoffrey had the feeling that Fraser could see Oliver. He ran a hand through his hair, remembering that he hadn't done any grocery shopping. "Can we press pause on 20 questions so that I can order something to eat?" He pointed at the pill bottle. "I have to have food in my system before the next dose."

Ray picked up the phone. "Mind if we order Chinese?"

Less than an hour later, they were digging in. He got to sit through the strange tale of how when Fraser went back to Chicago following his vacation and met Ray who, apparently, was pretending to be some other guy also called Ray. Their partnership grew into a close friendship as time went on culminating into what Ray called "a bizarre courtship" during a quest for Franklin's Hand. He waited until Fraser and Ray had cleaned their plates to start questioning them. His own plate was only half empty.

"Ask him, Geoffrey," Oliver prompted.

He swallowed a pill before going forward. "So. Shakespeare. Tell me about it."

Fraser cocked his head and righted himself up. "Well, at present time, his date of birth is unidentified though most scholars agree to observe April 23—"

"Beep, Beep, Frase!" Ray flicked a hand. "Park it right there, mister! I might not know my Shakespeare from my Marlowe, but I think Geoff here," he said jerking his head to the side, "was asking about the plays, not a biography on the man."

Geoffrey smirked at Ray's bluntness. "Yes, tell me, Fraser, what kind of theater experience do you have?"

To his credit, Fraser gave him as close to a shrug as he would ever give him before answering. "I played Fernando in 11th grade and was Tybalt in a community theater's summer production of _Romeo and Juliet_ the following summer. However, I only got as far as dress rehearsals for that role." Fraser set his mouth downwards.

"Because?"

"My grandparents had a travelling library. Our route included stopping for a few months in Tuktokyaktuk, sometimes until late fall. I had already obtained my high school diploma and was taking care of the preliminary work to join the RCMP. Winter was approaching fast and my grandparents thought it best to spend those months in the South, so we headed to Yellowknife."

Oliver made a gesture that Geoffrey didn't quite get. He moved on. "Ok. Which plays are you the most familiar with?"

"Besides _Romeo and Juliet_, I've memorized _Henry V_, _Richard the 3rd_ . . ." Fraser made a shy smile, "by and large the tragedies and some of the histories. My grandparents adhered to the idea that the most somber plays would strengthen my sense of self. I remember my grandmother favouring _Julius Caesar_ over _Antony and Cleopatra_ basically, because she thought the latter was somewhat racy. I wasn't allowed to read the comedies until I was 15 years old. Lately, we," he nodded at Ray, "have been catching some of the earlier plays. Like _Titus_, for example." The skin in the corner of Fraser's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Something that I find both interesting and disturbing."

Ray looked at him. "_Titus_?" He addressed Fraser. "Which one is that one again?"

Fraser gave him a quiet smirk. "The one with the girl with tree branches for hands and two young men who played videogames while listening to rock music."

Geoffrey's eyes lit up. "Where was that staged? It sounds brilliant."

Ray turns towards him. "Oh, it's a movie adaptation." He made twin L shapes with his index fingers and thumbs framing him. "Shakespeare as Tarantino. Cool, huh?"

Geoffrey was about to say something when Oliver's huffed "Blasphemy!" broke his concentration. He scowled at the surly ghost. "Mmm-hmm. I spent some long months back when I was in the institution coming up with ways to remix anything from _As You like It_ to _Pericles_. And why I wouldn't call any of them an outright success, there were some moments that were pretty inspired. Thankfully, though, unlike one Darren Nichols, I've never felt the need to mix horseshit and a live audience."

"Ah." It seemed like Fraser didn't really have anything to say.

"Right now, though, we're putting up _Twelfth Night_. Or we will be doing so in about a month and a half. Ellen's Olivia, of course. I think she's having fun with it. Viola/Cesario is played by this girl called Nina Holmes." He crossed his arms. "Funny story about that. I met Nina when I took my car to change the tires. Her dad owned the garage. Anyway, there I am, flipping through one of my copies of _Twelfth Night_, when I feel her looking at me. She's this tiny bundle of a young woman. After a while, I guess she overcame her shyness because she approached me and began to recite bits and pieces of Olivia's speeches. It was strange, but then what in my life isn't?" He exhaled, scratching his head. "So I ask her what kind of theatrical experience she has, blah, blah, blah. Came in to audition one day later and just nailed it. I remember Ellen was pissed, but I'm use to _that_ particular lady protesting too much. Ha!"

"You mean to say that Ellen wanted to play Viola?"

"Huh?" Geoffrey made a face. "No. What got Ellen all wound up is that she doesn't do comedy as well. High drama? Yes. A barrel of monkeys with pie on top? Not so much. A lot of it has to do with timing, which isn't that hard to learn. Still, the actor also has to be okay with making a fool of him or herself. It can be hard to let go like that. Ellen can do it, but it takes her a while to feel comfortable enough to make it look natural. Meanwhile, Nina is more flexible. The comedies are her forte. Whatever. Eventually she'll grow up and one day will be a fantastic Medea. If her temper fizzes out."

Fraser made a face. "Pardon?"

"Nina's great. She's got talent, but she's also a little green. Most of the cast tolerate it. Ellen does not. I think it's because Nina has a big personality inside a tiny body. Kinda like Ellen herself. You know," he turned his face to Oliver and gave him a smug grin, "I think that if Nina had met Oliver instead of me, she would have never made it past being a plum fairy."

Oliver glowered at him. "All this time and you're still bringing _that_ up! I'll have you know that Kate would have eventually starred in one of my productions, Geoff. I was just testing her mettle as it were."

**********

Ray gave Fraser a look. He could almost hear Ray's voice: _is this the genius we have to keep from getting capped?_ He lowered his head to hide his smile. A cough from his father stopped him from giggling. "Yes. Ahem. How about you give us the background information on the rest of the crew?"

He handed a stack of photos to Geoffrey who quickly began to sort through it. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes and picked up a photo seemingly at random. The thin but friendly-looking woman in the picture had a nervous grin. "This is Anna. She is the festival's administrator. No office to speak of, but she has a desk I have to walk by every morning to reach my office. A little scattered, but diplomatic. She might or might not pick up on the fact that I am not me. That _you_ are not me." He threw his hands in the air. "You know what I mean."

Fraser nodded. "Continue."

"Richard Smith-Jones and I usually don't get along," he said as he pointed at a rather bland-looking man. "He can suck out the life out of a room. Most of the troupe doesn't really respect him even though, he did a good enough turn around right around about the time we premiered _Romeo and Juliet_. He will always be an outsider, a fact he resents and embraces at the same time. Right now, he's on vacation in Europe. He left shortly after I went to hospital. There's no love lost between us."

Ray stopped jiggling his leg and leaned forward. "Next."

"Maria is our stage manager. She knows the theatre inside and out and will most definitely be able to tell who I am." Geoffrey gave them a tight smile. "We might have to tell her about the switcheroo sooner rather than later."

Ray had begun to shake his head no. "Which part of undercover don't you get?"

Fraser placed what he hoped was a calming hand on Ray's forearm. "She can coach me when it's needed." A grim line set on Ray's face and he shrugged a shoulder.

The woman in the next photo had a certain feral quality that disturbed Fraser. "Ellen . . . Ellen. The not-so-Dark Lady who set me on the path to my breakdown," Geoffrey sighed. "She's the only woman I've ever loved and the only one who could tell, even whole provinces away, that I wasn't me. We've known each other for far too long for us to stop 'getting' one another. You have to watch out for her."

**********

Oliver sat next to him and ghosted his hand on Geoffrey's head. The small gesture was bittersweet. Sitting up a couple of breaths later, Oliver stood up and began to circle the blond man next to Fraser. "Okay, I understand what Bob had been talking about," he said with some disdain. "But what about him?" He pointed at Ray with a confused expression on his face. "What's his part in all this?"

Geoffrey had been wondering the same thing. "So whom is he supposed to go as?" he inquired but with a tone less biting than Oliver's. "Unlike Darren, there is no solid explanation for me to have my own bodyguard. I mean, yes, the police have been tapped, but having someone appear next to me, like a shadow, when 'I' get back to the theater doesn't fit. I've never needed a PA either. Besides, I'm sure you know I'm very much," he looked at the simple, matching platinum rings worn by Fraser and his partner, "single."

He didn't miss the abrupt stiffness that appeared in Fraser's stance. "Your dossier was very through. I—I will not wear my ring anywhere but in my room at the hotel." Fraser tilted his head as he swiped an eyebrow. "As for Ray, well, it's been decided that he's a fellow director who might be brought in for the next season."

Geoffrey was impressed at how they seemed to have thought of the set-up from as many angles as they could. He yawned, almost without meaning to.

"It might be time for us to leave, Geoffrey," Fraser said as he looked at his watch. "You have just been discharged from hospital today and yet we've been here for such a long time."

"Yeah," Ray agreed. "Maybe it's time to cut this short. We can work on your style and all that tomorrow."

Geoffrey yawned in response. "Go on, let yourselves out. See you same time as today, okay?" He began to slouch on the sofa, his eyes feeling heavy as he finally gave into the sedatives.

**********

Fraser was quiet in the taxi on their way back to their hotel. He couldn't believe how calm Ray acted when Fraser had offered not to wear his wedding band back at Geoffrey's apartment. Deep down, he knew that Ray loved him at the same level, if not more intensely, than he had once loved Stella Vecchio. And yet, something about Ray's easy manner distressed him greatly.

Their 'tiff', as it came to be known, started innocently enough.

They were walking through the hotel lobby. Ray trying to talk him into ordering some room service and place it on the RCMP tab, when Fraser shifted the conversation. "You worked about nine years undercover before getting placed as Ray Vecchio, correct?" He had kept, somewhat underhandedly, a casual tone.

Ray rolled his eyes. "You read my file," he quirked an eyebrow, "you tell me."

"And how did, ahem, Stella react?"

"The first couple of times?" Ray pressed the elevator button and thought about it for a moment. "Not really well. And, let me tell you, those first assignments? They were easy-peasy."

Fraser looked at him with genuine curiosity. "How do you mean?"

"It was basic stuff, I would go in as Mike Johann, Cody Daniels, James "The Hammer" Doonan, you know, a typical low-level scumbag that could slip in for a couple of days and sneak out without none of the dealers or their enforcers really picking up on it." They walked into the deserted elevator in timing. "But Stell," he sighed, "She reamed me a new one if I brought them home with me, you know? I've always been good at shaking them off, but sometimes there would be a mannerism or turn of phrase that slipped through and pissed her off. 'Knock it off, Ray' she used to say in a tone of voice so cold my balls felt like they were in Siberia. It annoyed me because, well, it made me think that she doubted my real worth as a detective."

"Hmm, but to you it was simply work, right?" Fraser prompted as they stepped out of the elevator and started walking towards their suite. "You were using your charm in a variety of ways in order to apprehend criminals." He slid the keycard into the slot and opened the door to their room.

"Well, I tell you, sometimes I think my undercover work was the cherry on top when it came to my marriage to her becoming undone." Ray sat on the surprisingly comfortable sofa and kicked off his boots. He was about to reach for the phone when he jerked up and looked at Fraser. "Why do you ask? Afraid you'll bring your bizarro twin with you and into our bed? 'Cause let me tell you, I don't think you are one of those people who don't know who they are."

Fraser felt his face blushing. "Ah. Erm. No. "He tugged an ear."Not really."

"Uh-huh," Ray made a beckoning gesture with his hands. "Spill it, Frase. I know that things can rankle in that brilliant mind of yours for far longer that it would take me to make a decent pair of Mukluks."

He twisted his lips and decided to go around it delicately. "Well, back at the hospital, when Geoffrey . . . . Erm—"

"Yeah?"

"He's not married and I know that from reading his files but, erm, I hadn't really thought about—"

Ray finished the thought for him. "The fact that you have to take off your wedding ring when you're him?"

He felt ridiculous to even voice such an inane thought, so he opted to simply nod, his eyes studying the pattern on the rug. The anxiety he was feeling seemed to have dulled his senses for he neither heard nor saw Ray make his way to him. Suddenly, Ray was standing behind him, wrapping his arms around his torso. He felt Ray placing his chin on his shoulder.

"I get it, Frase. Better than most people, I do." Ray's hands slid up and down his chest in a calming gesture. "And, even though I kinda joked about this earlier today, it _is_ pretty shitty that you got called into this job when we are still in the middle of our honeymoon year."

"Duty, Ray. I couldn't turn my back on being called." The hands that had been caressing him stopped and Fraser felt his stomach tightening in the silence that followed.

"So," Ray stepped back and walked around until he could look at him straight in the eye. "You mean they gave you an out? That this assignment wasn't mandatory and you still accepted it?"

He recoiled inside at the traces of sharpness in Ray's voice. "No. I mean, not exactly. Inspector MacGyver made it clear that I was the only person available for this job. A man's life is in grave danger, Ray. At least that's what the police has been able to assess from their, ahem, investigation. Mr. Tennant has been most reluctant, dismissive even, but there are those that believe that the threats are real enough to—"

"Huh, so you mean to tell me that we have placed our lives on hold so that you can go be bait even though the actual 'victim'," Ray said making air quotation marks, "appears to believe everything will get solved on its own? Hell, you saw him, Fraser, the guy ends up in the hospital and he blames it on an accident?!"

"That's, erm, that's what I have been able to ascertain from my conversations with other authorities."

Ray shucked his lips. "There's duty and then, there's _duty_, Fraser."

"Yes, but I've been told that the 'attacks' are real enough to have brought me, us here. I trust my sources."

There wasn't much for him to do at this point but let Ray pace. He felt hopelessly in a bind: he didn't want to lie to Ray. At the same time, he couldn't come out and disclose to Ray that not only could he see his father's ghost, but that it had been Fraser Sr. who had pointed him in the path towards New Burbage. There was such a thing as too much honesty.

"I'm not liking this, Fraser," Ray said when he finally stopped in front of the window and placed his forehead against the cool glass. He inhaled and exhaled before turning around and facing him. "Listen, I don't even have to think about it. I _know_ you would have my back if the positions were reversed. And yet, I can't help feeling like you should have thought about it or discussed it with me when they offered you this assignment instead going for it without questioning it."

If Ray could bare his feelings without a hint of shame, Fraser decided that he could do so as well. He walked up to Ray and interlaced their hands. "I know that I have always had a tendency to—" he licked his lips—"get lost in my work, so to speak. And I know that as I, I mean, we have grown older, there are things one has to let go of."

"And yet, duty said jump and you asked how high." Ray looked down at their hands. "We're not young 'uns no more, Frase, and this wanna-be psycho-killer has a hard-on to see a dude who looks _just_ like you get the big sleep."

Fraser let go of one of Ray's hand and cupped his chin. "Which is why the Inspector insisted on you coming in as my backup. Who better to look out for me than you, my Ray?"

"We have to talk, once this whole thing is over, about this tendency of yours to go balls out into danger. I just got married and I'm not feeling in any hurry to become a widower." Ray pouted.

Fraser gave him a small side smile.

"At least not for another 50 years." Ray's bottom lip stuck out even more.

That was all the prompting he needed. Fraser pulled Ray's face towards him and gave him one of his sweetest kisses.

"As you wish, Ray."

*********

They spent the earlier part of Thursday back at Geoffrey's apartment with Ray giving Fraser pointers on everything from how Geoffrey sat to the pitch of his voice. It got the point where even Geoffrey himself was tired of feeling like his every thought and feeling was under a microscope, so Ray proposed that it was time for Fraser to look into more practical matters like Geoffrey's style.

Geoffrey smirked when Ray pointed at a pile of clothes and told Fraser to try them on. "You're the same size, I think, so get going." Fraser made a face for a moment before picking up the clothing.

Ray drummed his fingers against his thighs. "So tell me, what's the deal with the blades then?"

Geoffrey turned his face towards him while they both waited for Fraser to step out of the bathroom as he changed into some of Geoffrey's clothing. "I like to put one in my mouth and turn it around." He ignored the look of uneasiness in Ray's face. "It calms me down. Some people chew gum. I like to have blades in my mouth."

Ray raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth. Geoffrey thought he was going to say 'you're certifiable'. But he said the following instead: "You sure you and Frase ain't related?"

He was about to answer when Ray broke away and faced the bathroom. "Yo, Earth to Fraser! Come out before I die of waitin'!"

A tired sigh filtered through the door. "Very well, but I have to say that I've not been as uncomfortable as I am right now since back when I wore the Serge in Chicago during summer."

The door opened and Fraser stepped out into the living room with a blush fierce enough to light up half of Inuvik.

**********

Ray gave him an amused look. "Whoa, Frase, this is totally like _Face Off_!"

Fraser stared back at Ray as he searched his memory of movies that he had seen since partnering with him. "Was that the one with the face exchange and the pigeons or the horror movie about diabolical zombies who chased topless cheerleaders?"

"It's the first one, Frase," Ray answered with a side grin, eyes twinkling with snark. "And apparently, you've been holding out on me 'cause I don't remember the second one."

"Oh? That might have been a dream then?" He said nonchalantly.

"Zombies and cheerleaders, huh?"

Fraser chose not to continue the verbal exchange and instead turned his head towards Geoffrey, still fighting the urge to smile at Ray's comment, only to feel his facial muscles freeze up.

The man next to Ray did not look particularly happy. "Not good?" Fraser prompted, feeling as he was being judged by more than two sets of eyes.

"Too good," Geoffrey said as he stood next to him, with an apprehensive expression on his face. "There's that whole not twins but identical thing and now you in my clothes . . . ." He shuddered.

"I know what you mean," Fraser said as he fought the urge not to shiver in response.

"You look so, I don't know, _wrinkled_," Ray said as he shook his right leg. He turned to Geoffrey. "No offense."

"None taken." He shrugged in response before turning back to his 'good twin'. "Never been one to iron my clothes. Maybe I'm allergic to starch."

"I do have to admit that I feel odd," Fraser commented, eyes darting from Ray to Geoffrey, "though I have had to wear far stranger clothing before. Especially when I was liaising with Ray Vecchio."

"Wish there could have been some photographic evidence somewhere," Ray sighed.

He didn't know how to respond to that. Dressing as a woman for the sake of Ray Vecchio's one-time love had been, thankfully, unofficial and not even Lieutenant Welsh could be pushed into describing Ms. Fraser to anyone once the case was closed.

"Fraser," Geoffrey interrupted, "I've been thinking about this whole thing. You being me and all that. And I know that you are doing an investigation, but," he glanced at Oliver, "I am not sure if you can really direct a play, well, my play really. So," he held a hand up to this ear, "what do you think about having hidden microphones?"

Fraser mulled it over before looking over at Ray, with some apprehension. "I find that to be a very inspired idea." He could almost pin-point the moment when Ray was going to begin shaking his head no, and yet he kept on. "But, in order to do that, we have to bring someone else in. So, I guess we have to sit down with Maria?"

*********

It had taken a lot of convincing, but eventually Ray relented and agreed on having Maria in the loop. They spent the next couple of days in a mix of prepping Fraser and outlining the plan. The most surprising thing was how very quiet Oliver had gotten. He wasn't around as much. "All this prep work has grown tedious, Geoff," he said one evening when Geoffrey mentioned it.

**********

Geoffrey invited Maria over to his apartment two days before the rehearsals were going to begin again. He had considered that she was going to be stupefied by seeing what basically amounted to two Geoffreys. Unfortunately, he had not anticipated that she would spend nearly a minute looking back and forth between Fraser and himself before fainting, quite literally, into Ray's arms.

"Are all theatre folk this dramatic or is it a byproduct of Fraser being involved in the case?" Ray asked Maria once she came to.

Sitting down on the living room sofa, Maria ignored Ray and stared at Geoffrey and Fraser instead. "So there are _two_ of you? Fuck!" She raised a hand to cover her mouth. "I never knew you had a twin brother." Her gaze pingponged from Geoffrey to Fraser and back.

Geoffrey raised his hand. "Over here. _I'm_ the artistic director. C'mon, doesn't he," he jerked a thumb at Fraser, "look a little too scrubbed up to be me?" He let what was sure to be Fraser's refined glare roll off his body. "Besides, I'm the talented one."

This seemed to wake Fraser up. "A pleasure to meet you, Maria." Fraser shook her hand. "Corporal Benton Fraser, RCMP."

Showing inner steel that made Geoffrey proud to have her in her team, Maria perked up to the hidden microphone plan as soon as Fraser brought it to the table. She gave a couple of suggestions and even hugged Geoffrey before everyone went home.

They decided that both Geoffrey and Ray would hide in the sound booth for the first day back to rehearsal. As the days had gone on, Geoffrey wasn't as bothered by his broken leg. Additionally, it didn't really matter how identical Fraser and he were. He was still directing the play. Ray was set to accompany him instead of Fraser because he wanted to 'get a feel' for the place and the people, to see where his instinct took him.

"It'll be like some kind of reverse stakeout, Frase," he said before squeezing Fraser's hand.

**********

Fraser had gotten a headache late afternoon on the day before 'Geoffrey' was set to return to the Swan. The three of them were going through all of Geoffrey's notes for the play.

"You must remind Mark that he doesn't need to stomp around the entire stage," Geoffrey said as they looked at set sketches. "He also has a tendency to face people from his left side." He licked his lips. "I used to think it was a quirk, but I'm beginning to think that he's going deaf on his right ear. Anyway, I think I've got something written down somewhere in the first ten pages." He flipped through a spiral notebook. "Here you go," he said, pointing at some scribbling. "This is the perfect blocking to keep that from happening. After all, it can be subconsciously distracting, you know?" Geoffrey stared into space like he was looking for agreement.

Ray grunted before getting up and heading to the kitchen. "Tea, Frase?'

He rubbed an eyebrow—whoever would have thought putting on a production would be so exhausting?—before giving Ray a weak smile. "Ah, yes. Thank you kindly."

Geoffrey seemed to snap from whatever trance he was in. "Anyways, the only thing I wouldn't mess around with are the light cues. Maria's a fucking genius and--"

His stamina, for someone who was on pain medication, was both enviable and irritating, Fraser thought.

**********

Something about stepping into the Swan's lobby made Fraser feel completely out of sorts. Like that one time he was Billy Bob the car salesman during one of his early cases with Ray Vecchio so many years ago. He knew that both Geoffrey and Ray were already sitting in the sound booth, having sneaked into the theater almost a whole hour before even Nahum was due to come in. He smiled as he remembered Maria handing over her set of keys the day before—which included the locks for most doors except for Geoffrey's and Richard's offices—and telling them to make copies.

Ray had teased him earlier in the morning when Fraser bit his lips and stared at what Geoffrey called his daily armor: a grey undershirt, a much wrinkled olive shirt, black pants, hiking boots and a rather comfortable dark gray overcoat. Only the coat was wrinkle-free. Fraser imagined that his grandmother would have had a fit if she could only see him.

It might have been more practical to have some kind of bag in which to put everything Geoffrey considered "indispensible" to make others believe Fraser was him. However, the way Fraser understood it, Geoffrey was a tactile person with a deep reverence for books. It was something Fraser could respect, despite the extra baggage it produced. He was presently carrying two notebooks filled with Geoffrey's handwriting and a paperback edition of _Twelfth Night_ borrowed from Geoffrey's own library.

He was almost close to his office when a chirpy "Geoffrey!" stopped him in his tracks. Turning around slowly, he licked his lips as he faced Anna coming from underneath her desk.

"Oh my god, it's so great to see you back! How is—" She blushed as her eyes travelled from his shaven face down his legs. "Is your ankle okay?"

His ankle? "Ah, yes. I'm in—" He closed his mouth in order to keep himself from uttering the words 'perfectly good health'. "Fine." _He was not Fraser._

"Having fun yet, Son?" His father tilted his hat towards a completely oblivious Anna.

Leave it to his father to have the worst timing in the history of ghost apparitions. He turned his head to his side and spoke through his teeth. "For God's sakes, Dad, please leave!"

"Geoffrey," Anna cut in and Fraser sighed in relief as he turned toward her, "I have some messages. Ellen has been asking about you every day. Darren too. Of course, he does it in his usual petulant manner. The thing is, I never expected him to, you know, care. Maybe he felt guilty about the tantrum he threw when he learned that _Othello_ was not going to be the flagship production for this upcoming season?"

Fraser had the impression that she felt embarrassed to have said that.

Bob looked at Anna. "I like her, Son. She's a sturdy woman. Kind of reminds me of your great aunt Hazel. Now there was a woman who knew how to make good pemmican. I remember one day when I was still a child and I saw her coming up to the house, a caribou carcass on her shoulders like it weighted nothing. She was good people."

He tried not to roll his eyes at whatever inanity was coming out of his father's mouth. In an abrupt moment of rudeness, he stepped around him and kept walking to 'his' office. "Yes, well, Darren is . . ." He bit his lower lip, trying to come up with something to say. Suddenly, the realization hit him: _he was not Fraser!_ "Darren defies all reason, sort of like tying your wallet to your undergarments." He might have snickered.

"There really is no need for such insolence! Really, Benton, I raised you better than that!"

For a brief moment, Fraser's one thought was 'what would Geoffrey _do_'? and he yielded to the impulse. He turned around and faced his father. "You mean _your parents_, right?"

His father shrugged and looked away.

He was grateful that rather than arguing, his father conceded. Apparently, sometimes miracles did happen.

"Geoffrey?"

Fraser was wondering why Anna was actively ignoring the fact that for all intents and purposes, "Geoffrey" was also having a conversation with someone who wasn't there. He had to admit that it felt both strange and refreshing at the same time. "I've spent some time alone. Unwinding." It didn't sound as close to something Geoffrey would say, but it would have to do. He walked into the office, followed by Anna and his father's ghost. Dropping the books on the table, he studied the room, planning to search for hidden microphones once he was alone.

Anna gave him a sweet smile and stepped closer. Her arms came around him and Fraser was touched both by the awkwardness of the hug as by the intention behind it. "It's good to have you back."

Once it was over, Fraser noticed that her eyes were wet. She stopped at the door. "Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot."

How did Geoffrey take his coffee? He stared at her until the answer rolled out his mouth. "Black. Please."

"Sugar? Cream?"

"No. Black. Thank you kindly."

She nodded. "I'll be back in a minute."

He closed the door behind him and sagged his shoulders.

"This whole business is the complete opposite of insipid," his father said as he looked at a skull and then, quite pointedly, at an empty corner.

"This whole business would have not been started had I decided not to pay attention to anything you have to say."

"But, Son, we always get our man."

Fraser took an After Eight mint from between the definitively human skull's teeth and turned it around in his fingers. "Hmm."

**********

"Looks like everyone's here," Geoffrey said as he slowly moved his binoculars to and fro.

"And one of them wants you dead," Ray deadpanned.

"Hold on." He placed his binoculars on the console in front of him and looked at the call sheet Maria had given him. "The woman in the red shirt is Sharon. She's Nina's understudy. According to the call sheet, Nina left a voicemail yesterday. She said she was sick with stomach flu."

Geoffrey and Ray looked at each other. "Hangover," they said in unison before sharing a laugh.

He picked up the binoculars and did a sweep of the entire room. "I don't see Darren or, obviously, Pex either. Strange. Hey," he said still facing the stage, "where's your husband? He'll have to show up soon or Maria will have to release them."

Ray grunted. He picked up his earpiece and set it. "Fraser? Are you there?"

There was a crackle and suddenly, they could hear a soft inhale exhale. Fraser's voice popped in Geoffrey's ear. They were sharing the same channel. "Right as rain, Ray. I'm on my way to rehearsal." He sounded like he was trying to sound more jovial than he was actually feeling.

Geoffrey could almost understand Fraser's barely-hidden nervousness. Everyone thought that all a director did was yell at actors as he or she molded them into becoming the characters they were portraying. Very few actually understood the reality of the amount of work it took to coax a laugh or a sense of loss out of another human being. And to do in such a way that the actor could repeat it until the final performance, well, that took skill.

"How I wished I had thought of this, darling!" Oliver was sitting next to him with a neon pink pair of binoculars. "_Twelfth Night_ set in the 70s. All that glam and androgyny and polyester. I never gave this play its due and, well, it's something of a small regret."

All Geoffrey could do was to give a slight nod.

"Would it have killed them to do a better set though?" Oliver continued. "Not to make it camp, you know, but a little kitsch never hurt anyone."

He was about to tell Oliver to bite him when Ray's hand on his shoulder interrupted his train of thought.

"There he is," Ray announced. "Hmm. Hey, Frase, limp a little. Remember that you still have a sore ankle. Maybe you can put one foot on the seat in front of you when you sit down?"

Fraser slowed down and began to drag his leg in such a subtle way that no one noticed he was faking it.

"Good morning, fellow thespians," he said.

Geoffrey winced. He was rarely this cheery at the beginning of the day. "Bring a little gruff into your voice, Fraser."

Fraser coughed, maybe in acknowledgement, in between one limp and the next. Much to Geoffrey's surprise, his voice acquired a roughness as he started to talk to the actors. "Let's take it from the top. Maria?" He then turned and, with some careful movements, sat nine rows back.

**********

The first players made their way to the stage. Maria straightened up. "Right. Act one, scene one. _Duke Orsino's Palace. Enter Duke Orsino, Curio and other lords. Musicians attending_."

Fraser hadn't told Geoffrey, but this wasn't his favourite of the comedies. Not that he would only admit it under pain of death, but _Much Ado about Nothing_ never failed to make him laugh. Still, this play had its charm. Ray's voice came almost crystal clear into his ear. "So what do you see, Frase?"

He flicked his eyes around, not really paying attention to what was going on the stage. Geoffrey had told him that this first day back was something akin to the warmup an athlete does before practice. "The same players are here except for Darren and Pex, his assistant. Maria told me that they both took off on the day the memo stating that rehearsal was postponed until today went up. Hmm."

"Now, Frase," Ray's voice cut in. "I think it might be a little too early to begin taking people off our suspects' list."

Fraser saw the shadow of his father's Stetson on the back of the seat in front of him. "It's a good thing to be alert, Son. Even a wolf might hide in amongst a herd of caribou." And then, the shadow disappeared.

"What's that?"

"I'm just _hmming_, Ray."

"And I'm just saying that I'm completely fluent in Fraserese."

Fraser chuckled as one scene followed the next. Soon, Ellen and James were on stage. He noted that Ellen looked a little bored.

"Ellen is not focusing," Geoffrey interrupted. "I think she's confused at why I have kept her away."

Fraser gazed at the woman who trained a nervous eye on him every couple of stanzas. "I'm going to call her out on it."

Geoffrey's voice rose a pitch. "No, wait!"

"Maria?" Fraser called out and everyone froze.

"Ten minutes everybody."

He made a show of standing up and half-hoping towards the stage. "Ellen?"

The woman stared back at him as if she didn't quite recognize him. "Yes?"

"What is your story for Olivia? I mean, it is coming off as if you are more pissy than angry at Malvolio." Fraser ignored the gasp that had to be Ray's. Both Geoffrey and Ray had constantly ribbed him for a couple of hours on the need for him to, occasionally, say a bad word. He gave them a put-upon face then and wished he could do so now as well.

"No one likes to be lied to." There was certain venom in her words. "I was worried, everyone was worried! If you didn't want to work this play, you could have always let me be Desdemona. I don't work only for you, you know?" She blinked a few times. "Sorry. I'm sorry!" She waved her hands and stormed off the stage.

The rest of the rehearsal went by faster than Fraser had initially expected. Almost three hours had gone by before he realized it was time to compare notes with Ray. He got up and nodded at Maria, not stopping as he continued towards the exit door.

He was by the door when he heard Maria's voice. "Okay. Everyone's released."

*********

The next day's rehearsal was perhaps a little bumpier than the previous one. Geoffrey mentioned that he had some new notes as soon as Fraser took his seat in the theater.

Most of the cast appeared to be more relaxed. Frank and Cyril, for example, had quoted some of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's funniest lines as a way to say hello. Fraser was touched. Little by little, the rest of the cast trickled in. Rehearsal was set for ten am. Nearly forty minutes had gone by and Ellen had not showed up.

"She's always late when she feels like testing my worth as a director, Fraser," Geoffrey said. "Besides, I don't think she's owned a watch since before she did her first Juliet. Don't take it personally."

Fraser nodded. He would have to address the matter of chronic lateness at some point, however. The doors opened and he twisted his head toward it, feeling a shot of electricity as he realized who was walking in.

The conversations stopped as soon Ray entered the room. Fraser got up and limped his way, meeting him halfway, fighting the stubborn urge to kiss him hello.

"You ready, F—Geoff?" Ray's eyes twinkled with amusement.

He could only nod.

"'Kay. Let's do this." Ray answered as he tilted his head, his whole body it looked like, in the direction of the stage.

Sublimating his desire to taste Ray's mouth, Fraser turned away from him and toward the troupe. He did a revelatory hand gesture. "Everyone, this is my friend Ray Claxton. He's a director from the States and someone who, I hope, will bring some manner of brilliance in the next season."

The actors looked confused for the most part. Frank, Cyril and Nina, however, were staring at Ray, at _his_ body, like wolves sniffing out prey. Fraser felt a wave of jealousy run through him.

"Hi ya." Apparently, Ray was going for easy charm. "I'm just keeping this dude company as you guys twist and twirl on the stage."

A few people laughed. Frank and Cyril were on the verge of drooling as they kept looking up and down at Ray. Ellen, whom had sneaked though as Ray introduced himself to the cast, however, was not amused. Her mouth was a flat line.

"Okay, let's go, people!" Fraser clapped at them. "Maria, Act 2, Scene 1."

**********

Geoffrey's attention had been so focused how the actors were doing that he forgot to keep a lookout for Darren. Other than Richard, who was still in Europe, no one had seen Darren or Pex since the last 'accident'. Geoffrey thought Darren would try to take a jab at _his_ being in hospital at his first opportunity. He was wrong.

One moment, Maria had called for a lunch break, which caused a kind of stampede amongst most of the cast. Next thing he knew, Darren, followed very closely by Pex, was approaching Fraser and Ray.

They were five rows from the two men and would close in less than a minute. Geoffrey knew Fraser was still ill prepared for a confrontation with Darren. "Guys, Darren's here! He's the one person who can find you out, Fraser! You have to go, go, go!"

Fraser gave him an almost imperceptible nod as he 'struggled' to get up while assisted by Ray.

"I'll stall him," Geoffrey heard Ray say as he led Fraser out of the row of seats. "Fraser, I'll meet you back at the hotel?"

There was something in Fraser's movements that made Geoffrey think he was trying to decide whether to go or stay put.

"You have to go, Fraser!" Geoffrey pushed. "Let Ray take over." Soon he heard his nemesis' voice coming in loud and clear. "Oh, fuck!"

**********

"Well, well, if it's not New Burbage's bon vivant, in the flesh as it were!"

Fraser looked at the thin man with the neon green glasses, careful of keeping his face as bland as he could possibly make it. Darren was wearing a purple shirt that turned iridescent whenever he moved and the tightest pair of red leather pants this side of a tannery. Standing next to him, there was the individual known as Pex Easton. A graduate of the NationalSchool of the Arts, Easton entered some kind of internship—whatever that was—with Darren after the latter's return from Berlin.

The two men were in contrast with each other: where Darren was thin and pale, Pex was muscled and tan. Where one wore strange clothing, the other's ensemble was a simple pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Fraser wondered how well these two men got along. He did a combination of scratching and tugging his ear until the tiny earpiece loosed up and fell into his palm. The last thing he needed was Geoffrey ranting in his ear.

"Darren," Fraser nodded, perhaps a touch less Geoffrey-like as Darren gave him the same kind of quirky look Ellen had given him the day before. He coughed. "I hear Berlin will even let the monkeys in the zoo put up productions. One wonders why you ever left it." He ignored Ray's perplexed 'huh' and arched an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, the irrepressible Tennant wit. How I've missed it in the past weeks. It's a miracle to think that most people find you unique, let alone brilliant." Darren smirked for a beat. He was going to say something when his gaze shifted to Ray and ended up doing a non-subtle double-take. His voice seemed to loose a little bit of its sarcasm. "Oh, and you are?"

Fraser felt what had previously been a wave of jealousy surge into an entire ocean. To his surprise, he saw Ray extend a hand.

"I'm Ray Claxton. Director. Adventurer. Part-time boxer."

To Fraser's eyes, it looked like Darren was blushing. The ocean started to stir.

"Always a pleasure." Darren said, having opted—apparently—to ignore 'Geoffrey' completely. "Tell me, whatever brings you to the drudgery and paean to the bourgeoisie that is New Burbage?"

"Scoping out locations," Ray said in a friendly—but not flirty, Fraser was glad to see—way. "You know, trying to figure out where I'm going to lay down my hat next. That kind of thing." He shrugged, the picture of the bored artiste Darren might find appealing. "Geoff, here," he indicated with a thumb, "invited me to check out the scene over here at this pile of bricks. Beat having to do Ibsen again, you know?"

Fraser could see where Ray was aiming, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"You like the new Czechoslovakian post-modernist plays then? They are innovative, right? The use of darkness and water, bringing out a kind of primordial urge in all of us." Darren smiled. "Some people," and at this he looked at Fraser, "find them pretentious. Personally, I—"

Pex cut in, the tone of his voice coming off much softer than what Fraser had expected for someone who didn't look like he was ill. "Sorry, Darren, but we have to do the dry tech for _Othello_ in ten minutes."

Darren pursed his lips. "Yes. Thank you, Pex. Here's hoping that what the prop department came up with for my swamp is perfectly attuned to the baser emotions in the play, right?" Pex nodded and they started to walk away.

"Whatever you do, Darren," Fraser called after him, "make sure the audience doesn't die of malaria!"

Pex looked back at them with a bewildered expression on his face.

Darren kept walking to the doors.

**********

Geoffrey was sitting in his living room with Fraser and Ray. "I really didn't think you could take him, Fraser." He tipped his bottle of beer to him in mock salute before taking a swig of it and continuing eating his sandwich.

Fraser took a sip of his tea. "I just—I simply thought of how you described your relationship with him as one that will never congeal into actual friendship despite the amount of years you've known one another."

"Yeah, well," Ray interrupted. "All I was wondering was what the hell did strange East European plays have to do with flirting. That man needs to refine his technique."

*********

On the stage, James was the ideal picture of Malvolio at his most ridiculous with a wide smile and a general physicality that reminded Fraser of Turnbull at his goofiest. Ellen, meanwhile, was neither acting nor reacting. It gave him a strange sense of unease.

"You haven't really spoken to her, have you?" Geoffrey's voice had a defensive tone to it. Fraser wished he had left his earpiece at the hotel.

He rubbed an eyebrow. Hadn't he been postponing this for three days already? "I don't really know what to say to her."

"Well, you better do something because, when she gets like this, things can get explosive."

"Understood."

He waited until the lunch break to approach her. "Ellen? A word?" He indicated the side exit door.

"Let me get my cigarettes first, Geoffrey. I take it that this might be more than a one cigarette conversation." She picked up her purse and started to rummage through it. "Aha, got them. Let's go."

Fraser let her lead the way, biding his time to put his thoughts in order.

There was a cold breeze sweeping through the parking lot. He leaned against the wall, offering enough protection from the wind so that she could light one of her cigarettes. Fraser studied her as her thumb pushed the flint down a few times.

"Damn it," Ellen said when no flame came out of the lighter. She snorted before looking up at him. Her face was serious.

Next thing he knew, his left cheek was stinging from the hummingbird-quick slap she gave him. "Ellen?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry! But, really, Geoffrey, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Pardon?"

"You end up in hospital, totally close yourself off from everyone and now that you're back it's like you're not even here! It's like I can see you, but you're still too far away! I don't know. I'm sorry!"

"I—That is. Ah." There wasn't much he could say to all of this.

Her hug shocked him even more than the slap. "I have the feeling that maybe you're slipping away from reality, but I know I'm wrong at the same time." He felt her kiss on his cheek and when he looked back at her, her eyes were teary. "Please take care of yourself, Geoffrey."

He could not do more than stay put, the guilt of not being Geoffrey, of not being able to tell her made him strangely sad.

*********

The week had ended with no bigger incident than a couple of fuses burning out. Geoffrey was reading his new set of notes when Oliver popped in.

"So no news then?"

Geoffrey put his notebook aside. "We've been at the Swan every day. First ones to arrive, last ones to leave. Nothing weird other than Darren's ridiculous 'swamp'." He rolled his eyes. "That man is a bigger idiot ever since he came back from Germany!"

Oliver crossed his arms and put a fist under his chin. "Do you think—do you think we might have scared off whoever was trying to help you shuffle off your mortal coil?"

"I'm not sure." The truth was he had been feeling slightly more than paranoid ever since he stepped back into the Swan. Fraser had given him, well not exactly platitudes, but something more like reassurances that it was only a matter of time before the saboteur struck again. "Fraser says whoever this person might be, he or she will strike again. He also told me a long-winded story about a musk ox and a pebble, which, frankly, I tuned out. However, the gist of it is that the saboteur might have a kind of compulsion so, it's a matter of time."

Not looking especially convinced, Oliver simply nodded and faded into the ether.

Geoffrey picked up the notebook again, but he wasn't really into dissecting the play anymore. Tossing it aside, he stretched out on his sofa, wondering who was hoping to see him break apart from the outside in.

**********

"Was it me or was today's rehearsal particularly, um, brutal?" Ray sat in the driver's seat of Geoffrey's car and turned the ignition. Since 'Geoffrey' had not gotten the doctor's O.K. to drive due to the pain medication, his friend Ray Claxton had offered, in front of everyone, to chauffeur him to and from the Swan. Maria had volunteered to drive the real Geoffrey home for as long as the investigation went on. Fraser had begun to protest when Maria put up a hand. "Not everyone is out to get Geoffrey, you know. Plus, I park my pickup by the service entrance which no one other than caterers and delivery people uses."

Fraser leaned back in the passenger's seat and closed his eyes. "I agree today was challenging, Ray." Everything that could have gone wrong—from Ellen arriving an hour late due to being stuck in traffic to almost everyone missing their cues—did. He tried to relax, feeling the pull of gravity as Ray placed the gear in reverse and eased them out of the parking lot. Maybe he could take a nap.

"Huh, that's queer."

He was growing sleepy with each breath. Whoever thought Shakespeare could be so ferocious? "What's that, Ray?"

"Oh, nothing." Ray spoke fast, the way he always did when his stress levels were high. "Yeah, well, I get why you and I are on edge. This whole 'waiting for the other shoe to drop' business requires more mental stamina than most people would think. But I've got a hunch that _everyone else_ is waiting with us, you know."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, we're taking a hot bath, one with bubbles even, as soon as we get back to the hotel. How do you feel about—Son of a bitch!"

Fraser popped his eyes open, surprised at the sudden jerk to the left. "Watch out, Ray!"

"The fucking brakes ain't working, Frase! I'm going to have to crash it. Hold on!" He turned the steering wheel as far to the right as it would go.

As the car headed to an oak tree surrounded by some thick shrubs, Fraser closed his eyes, keeping one hand on Ray's right knee. "I'm ready."

"Here we go!"

**********

Geoffrey glowered at Oliver. It was a different dream, he knew as much, but looking at Oliver's friendly smile as he showed him the game of Clue on the table was beyond annoying.

"I thought you would like to be on more familiar ground," dream-Oliver said as he shuffled cards.

"This is not something I want to play," Geoffrey mumbled while resisting the urge to sit down.

"Oh?" dream-Oliver's face was one of hurt, "is that because you've outgrown it or because you might not like the answers?"

"Neither," Geoffrey answered. The game pieces were shiny. "It's because I think Mr. Body is the person closest to me."

Dream-Oliver picked up the toy gun. "Or maybe Mr. Body is nobody at all. Your turn."

**********

The paramedics had left, nothing to report, and the police were still going through the parking lot combing for clues. Geoffrey's car was on a tow-truck's bed, its front dented as if a bowling ball had fallen from a few feet above.

"Left a voicemail on Jamison's cell," Ray said as he closed his flip-phone. "This is a world of not good, Frase." He walked back to the parking spot, followed by Fraser, and crouched in front of a puddle. "Not for nothing was I obsessed with the Goat many years back, Fraser." He pointed at the liquid. "This is brake fluid." He raised his eyebrows, a serious expression on his face, as if he was waiting for Fraser to concur with him.

"It's started anew, Ray." Fraser stood up at the same time as Ray. Cutting the brake line, was this person desperate enough to not only murder a particular individual but to endanger innocent pedestrians and fellow motorists as well?

Ray looked at the car, the puddle and then back to Fraser a couple of times while chewing his bottom lip. "Right. It's time to bring out the big guns, Frase."

Fraser hung his head as he did his version of Canadian pouting. He nodded in agreement. Dropping his shoulders as he sighed, deep down he knew he would never hear the end of this.

Diefenbaker arrived two days later via airplane by special request. Fraser hadn't expected such swiftness from the part of the RCMP. Dief trotted over to Ray once they got back to their suite, sniffing around for snacks that weren't there, before turning around and giving Fraser a low growl. It seemed that he considered the idea to play pretend silly, if not completely undignified.

Ray stood in front of Fraser, not that Fraser needed protection, and something in the posture told him this was serious business. "Hey, mutt, we'll have none of that or it's a trip back home with no cookies, no scones and definitely no Twinkies for a whole year."

Dief closed his jaws at the very stern warning.

Fraser put a hand on Ray's shoulder until he felt his body relax and addressed Dief in the calmest tone possible. "Diefenbaker, I know you have been having, in your own words, 'the time of your half-wolf life', but you are needed here."

It was true that Maggie was a bigger soft touch than Frannie and Ray when it came to the doggy eyes. And Dief _had_ had an awesome mini-vacation with his choice of bitches to tussle with and plenty of small game to hunt. Fraser knew Dief had felt hurt when they had left him behind, even if as Fraser had mentioned, it was only due to the nature of the investigation and for an uncertain amount of time. Still, Fraser realized Dief thought it was great to be needed by the pack.

"Now, Dief, we," he pointed at himself as well as Ray, "are in need of your nose. Someone is trying to kill an individual who looks exactly, or so I'm told, like me. The possible victim does not own, I mean, doesn't have any kind of animal companion. That means you will have to pretend not to know me." Diefenbaker cocked his head to the side. Fraser squatted to his eye level. "Yes, you must think of Ray as your companion, not me. I'm not me."

Ray, having apparently forgiven Dief's brief tantrum, walked over to where he was. He scratched one of Dief's ears. "We're still pack. Plus, not even Super-Mountie over there can pick up the scents you can."

Fraser would have loved to tap a foot or purse his lips as Dief made a show of thinking about it before agreeing to do his part. Out in the wild, the low growl would have seemed as threatening as the one from a few moments ago, but Fraser knew better. He rubbed an eyebrow at the comment. "This is not about fulfilling your theatrical destiny, Dief, but thank you for heeding the call the duty."

Ray stopped scratching Dief's ear and gave Fraser a suspicious look. "What? I know I missed something! Spill!"

Fraser stood up and held out a hand to help Ray. "He said he will do what he must even though he's more of a Moliere fan."

*********

Geoffrey had expected someone, Ellen or maybe even Nina to complain about Fraser's half-wolf wandering around in the theater. Anna had become so taken with Dief that she had bought a doggy bed for him to sleep on when rehearsal ran long.

About the one person who didn't appreciate Dief's presence was Darren. Not that Geoffrey could really blame him. Not many people knew and ever fewer remembered, but a dog had bitten Darren the night of the second performance of _As You like It_ back in university. Rather than make him wary, that episode had actually increased Darren's enthusiasm for having live animals on stage exponentially.

**********

Fraser was growing dizzy from watching Nina and Ellen go all around the stage in one of the key scenes between Olivia and Cesario. Geoffrey had had a doctor's appointment and Ray had offered to drive him. While he understood the need to have at least one of them protecting Geoffrey, Fraser's patience was growing thin with what happening on the stage.

His father sat next to him. "Are they supposed to be wandering around like that?"

"As you well know, Viola who is now Cesario is trying to keep Olivia from declaring her love. I—o" he shook his head. "I mean, Geoffrey thought it best to give them some space to work out their differences." If he was honest with himself, Geoffrey hadn't thought that was a good idea. Fraser wondered why Geoffrey was humouring him.

"They look like two bucks spoiling for a fight."

"Please stop!" The whole room grew quiet. Onstage, Ellen was stunned into silence. Meanwhile, Nina said "Oh!" and ran off to the bathroom. Fraser noticed that she looked like she was on the verge of tears. He dropped his head until his chin touched the top of his chest. Everything that brought him peace seemed so far away. He sat up, wanting to shake the sourness of his mood. Maybe a cup of tea would brighten things up. "Maria!"

"We're breaking for lunch, people. See you back here at two."

Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser saw his father get up and walk up to the stage.

**********

Oliver stood by stage left. Nina's blocking wasn't working for him. "_At least Geoffrey can't deny I'm right_." He studied the space around him.

Bob materialized a few paces away. "Ah, so this is what it looks like from this angle." He made an enchanted face. "Being on stage," he said waving his hand from one side to the other, "it's quite intoxicating."

"This has always been a magical place. One that's born out of blood, tears, vomit and verse."

"What's that?" Bob stopped his hand halfway down the curtain.

"I said, magical." Oliver focused on the spot closest to the edge of the stage. He knew Nina wasn't prone to stage fright, but he was quite aware that the proximity to the audience could be a complete rush. "How are things with the investigation?" He faced Bob and made a conciliatory gesture. "I've been helping Geoffrey with his notes. One can't be everywhere at once, as you well know."

"Well, whoever he or she is, they are covering their tracks a little too neatly, if you ask me. No one, not even a fallen Mountie can sustain such a duplicitous train of thought before tripping up. I thought of telling Benton about this idea I have, but," he coughed, "he and Ray were, ah, unavailable."

"Oh?" Oliver turned his head and frowned. He was sure Bob would have blushed if he been alive. _Oh_. "Yes, well, Geoffrey told me they got married not so long ago."

Bob's gaze flicked everywhere but on Oliver. "It was a good match. Much better than I would have imagined" He sniffed before adjusting his Stetson. "Thankfully, the Fraser line will continue through Maggie."

Oliver nodded absentmindedly, turning his mind back to the task of blocking.

*********

Fraser was almost to the doors when he heard Ray's voice. A smile broke through his previous scowl. He had made it through the doors and was rounding a corner when a snooty laugh brought the dark clouds back.

It was Darren.

"Oh, Ray, but of course I've been to Berlin. You should go or, well, come with me when the season's over. I guarantee you an experience of theater in its purest form. Not this museum of dead texts that stands in New Burbage."

He managed to take a peek. Neither Ray nor Darren could see him.

"Yeah, well, I don't speak Deustch. How am I to talk to people?"

"Oh, but what's happening in Germany goes beyond language! Why, my very first outing was to a puppet show that was based on _Big Hands Tearing My Panties_."

"Come again?" Ray sounded like someone had insulted the Goat.

Fraser snorted. What was it with Darren's oblique flirting? He was squinting, his body getting ready to let Darren know what he could do with those big hands. One second later, he had to thank his Depot training for not jumping up when Nina touched his shoulder.

"Geoffrey?"

He twisted his head and then the rest of his body toward Nina, whose red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face told a tale of their own. "Are you okay?"

"I. Well." She crossed her hands and, from Fraser's perspective, appeared to become younger, almost like a scolded child. "I'm sorry. For what happened back in rehearsal."

He had a bona fide hunch of Nina's intention to get him to feel sorry for her. "The theater is all about testing boundaries. It'll be all right."

"The thing is I don't know how to work my process with Ellen. Would you mind giving me some notes?"

When he looked back at Ray and Darren, Ray caught his eye and winked at him. He spread his hands and mouthed the words "Ten more minutes". Fraser flicked a thumb against his nose. His body was tired but there were still some notes he had to pick up from Geoffrey's office. "Very well, Nina. How about you come with me as I pack up and we can discuss a little more on the Viola/Olivia/Cesario scenes, hmm?"

**********

Fraser took off his reading glasses and sat up, stretching the muscles in his back before crumbling against the sofa and closing his eyes. Geoffrey's handwriting was almost as agitated as Ray's—which normally wouldn't be much of a problem. But the amount of notes written in what Fraser thought of as theatrical shorthand had made the matter of catching up, as it were, very taxing indeed. On top of that, Nina had felt the need to tell him about her bouts of stage fright, asking him how to overcome them. It had been a longer conversation than he'd wanted.

Right now, however, he knew a tension headache loomed on the horizon.

He felt Ray moving on the sofa, first forward to shift all the papers that were on the coffee table to one side. Next, he stretched his left arm up and around Fraser, pulling him in with a gentle pressure. The TV came on and a bland narrator voice filled the room. Rather than pay attention to what vaguely sounded like a science programme, Fraser let it wash over him. He began to doze off.

"Huh." Ray said. "That's weird."

Curiosity piqued, Fraser half-opened his eyes. There was a shark on the TV. "Pardon?"

"Oh, it's this thing," Ray answered, his voice low. "All about amniotic relationships."

The shark turned around and swam in the opposite direction, a fish on his side. "Ah, that's a whalesucker. Most commonly known as a remora."

"Uh-huh."

"Perhaps you meant symbiotic, Ray?

"What did I say?"

"Amniotic. That's the fluid inside the uterus of a pregnant woman. While that," he said pointed at the screen, "is symbiotic." Fraser's eyes kept tracking the shark as it swam around with the remora attached to it. Something was fluttering at the edges of his mind, but he couldn't get a firm grip on it.

Fraser considered the idea that bringing Diefenbaker into the investigation, however beneficial, was making the would-be murderer shy.

By the following afternoon, he had cause to reconsider his train of thought.

Almost a week and a half had gone by since the 'cut brakes incident' as Geoffrey, Fraser, Ray and Maria came to call it. Both Geoffrey and the cast had entered a period where every scene was a struggle. Meanwhile, Darren had kept away. Fraser had seen him, up to his knees in mud while making his way to his office, with the ever-faithful Pex by his side.

Ray was waiting for him when he got to Geoffrey's office. "I've got a hunch."

"Hmm?" He eyed the After-Eight mint that Geoffrey had sworn was part and parcel of being the festival's artistic director.

"Don't know how to say it exactly," Ray continued as Fraser wondered whether or not he had to get that much into the Method, "It's like this: someone is trying to off Geoffrey for whatever reason. No note, no fingerprints and every attempt was random enough to also kill a couple of people, right? I mean, poisoned food, right?"

He nodded as he put the still-wrapped candy back in between the human skull. Geoffrey had assured the skull had once been his old friend Oliver Wells. "But the background checks have not turned up anything, Ray?"

"Yeah and we've been extra-vigilant and all that, yada-yada. I'm just saying that maybe we're going about this all wrong, maybe the person behind th—"

A growl and a yelp made both of them jump and run out of Geoffrey's office.

Lying next to a broken syringe was Dief, lying on his left flank, his body as still as if he had frozen up.

"Son of a bitch!" Ray threw his cell at Fraser before crouching and picking him up. "Call Jamison. I'm gonna take him to the animal hospital over on 20 th and Brandison Avenue."

Fraser bent down at his waist and picked up the largest amongst the broken syringe pieces. He began to dial as soon as Ray stepped around and ahead of him. They made it to the rental car they had gotten through Geoffrey's insurance company. Fraser, sitting in the back with Dief, started to give a quick debrief. Ray sped out of the parking lot.

They made it to vet in one piece despite running a couple of red lights.

Two hours later, Fraser was slumped against the wall. Ray, who had always had bursts of energy, was alternately pacing and sitting down.

"We're gonna get the motherfucker who did this, Frase. We're gonna get him and show him what a kick in the head feels like old school style."

Even though he was hurting for the now-recovering Dief, Fraser focused on the events as they occurred. The veterinarian mentioned that someone had injected Diefenbaker with anywhere between 5 to 8 milligrams of diazepam. It wasn't enough to kill him, thank God, but simply render him unconscious. Of course, the fact that Diefenbaker was, regardless of his hardiness, an elderly dog complicated matters.

His eyes burned when he saw Diefenbaker again. Rather than talk, he ran his hand through Dief's ruff.

Ray leaned over him, his fingers combing Dief's fur. "As many cookies and sweets as you want, buddy."

When Diefenbaker whined an apology, Fraser had to step out rather than having either of them see him cry.

**********

Geoffrey felt sick when Ray called him around five p.m. to tell him about the attempt on Dief's life. Whoever had done that was scum, plain and simple.

He had stayed at home that day to work on the final scene—it needed a little more punch—but decided to go back to the Swan and see if he could find some type of clue. Enough was enough.

**********

Fraser stepped inside the Swan feeling determined to find whoever was responsible for placing not only Geoffrey's life in danger but Diefenbaker's as well. He checked his watch. It was ten minutes to six p.m. Jamison had called Ray's cell to report a lack of clues, a contaminated scene and no witnesses. Fraser balled his hands into fists, angry that the suspect had eluded them for so long.

Ray had gone back to their room to shower and change. They had agreed to meet in front of the theater and go investigate together. But Ray was running late and Fraser was _tired_. He was tired of not getting answers, tired of pretending, tired of not being able to kiss, touch, hug Ray like he wanted unless it was behind closed doors, as if their union was sinful or wrong. The sooner they could find the culprit, the sooner they could go _home_.

He went up to the main offices; perhaps there was something to point the way. He lay down in front of Darren's office, sniffing the area where Dief had fallen, trying to define every odor. He was concentrating so intently on finding a clue that he didn't realize someone was behind him until it was too late. He felt a blow to his head and passed out.

**********

Geoffrey had sneaked in through the side entrance. There was an off-chance that the saboteur was still around. He wished he hadn't left his cane in his apartment. Besides helping him walk, it would have made a good weapon. He could have brandished it at the poisoner/saboteur like an epee at least.

A heavy sigh followed by a faint moan prompted Geoffrey to hide behind the bar. He peeked out from the side of the bar and had to bite his lips as he saw Pex carrying a mostly unconscious Fraser fireman-style.

He waited until Pex had carried Fraser through the entrance to get out of his hiding place. Calling the cops would be a good start. Wasn't there a phone by the restrooms? Did he have any coins? Maybe he could—

"Geoffrey?"

Startled by Anna's voice, his legs went one way and his torso another. He held on to the bar and looked up at her. "Your cellphone. Do you have it with you?"

Anna nodded a few times. "I think the battery is low, but it should last if you're not having a long conversation. Don't you want to use your phone in the office?" Her expression grew even more confused. "Geoffrey, what are you doing back here? I though you were having dinner with Ray?"

Geoffrey half-limped toward her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. "Listen, Anna, there's no time to explain, but you must call 9-1-1 right now. Tell them that someone's life is in danger. Then, call Constable Detective Jamison and tell him to come here." He let go of her and began half-limping toward the entrance to the main stage when he remembered. "When you talk to Jamison, don't forget to tell him to call Ray." He didn't wait to see if she would follow through. He didn't need to. Anna was good people.

*********

A wave of vertigo clashed with the dull throb in the back of Fraser's head. He could feel the bright stage lights all around him. Biting hard on the textile that covered his mouth—by the taste of it, either it was a prop handkerchief or something used to wax the lobby's banisters—Fraser blinked for a few seconds before opening his eyes.

Pex was standing in front of him, his face red with anger, mumbling something as he rummaged through a backpack, zipping open every pocket. "It has to be somewhere in here!"

Fraser looked around the stage at the same time he tested the knots on his hands and legs. He couldn't move too much without alerting Pex. Not that it really mattered. Whatever type of binding Pex had used was tough to the point where Fraser would need something really sharp to free himself.

"Aha!" Pex jumped up. He was aiming a Glock pistol at Fraser, using with both hands, his voice slightly louder than usual. "I'm so sick of how everyone has belittled Darren! He takes the banality of what passes for good theatre over here and raises it to a grandiose level! Do you think I don't know how much you mock him? Well, I do and I know it's my _duty_ as one of the medium's true believers to protect Darren no matter the cost" he waved the pistol for a breath before straightening his arm. "He's a genius. A genius, you understand? And you, Geoffrey Tennant, are a hack!"

**********

Geoffrey hobbled on the carpet with his back almost plastered to the wall. He kept his eyes on the stage where Pex was on his knees at three quarters profile from Geoffrey's perspective. Tied to a chair with something that looked like Ellen's pantyhose was Fraser looking like Penelope Peril.

He managed to creep all the way, until he was two meters from the stage. He switched his eyes from Pex, who still hadn't noticed him, to Fraser, who had finally opened his eyes. All Geoffrey need was a distraction, so that Fraser could show some of that super-Mountie skill Ray had often mentioned nearly a month ago when their involvement had started.

All of a sudden, Pex stood up. Geoffrey bit his lip when he saw the gun in Pex's hands and heard him saying something about Darren's brilliance. He doubted that he could make it up the few steps from the floor to the stage without a chance of discovery. Waving a hand, he was able to catch Fraser's attention. Now it was just a matter of improvisation and sheer luck.

*********

Fraser kept his eyes focused on Pex, who was spouting the same kind of ego-stroking babble most amateur criminals proclaimed. He could see Geoffrey, from a point in his peripheral vision, standing in front of the steps that led to the stage. Once it looked like Pex was winding his monologue down, Fraser focused on hearing the click of the gun. Getting the timing just right was crucial or Ray was going to be one angry widower.

**********

The first part happened really fast.

Just as Geoffrey was beginning to think that maybe he was going to have to call Pex's attention to him, a shot rang out. Fraser pushed his body to the side until he fell to the wood boards with a loud thump. The movement had distracted Pex long enough for Geoffrey to hop on the first couple of steps and throw himself at Pex, grabbing his legs.

The gun spun out to stage left.

Pex kicked, not hard enough to knock Geoffrey out, but he did manage to roll off and stand up.

Geoffrey half-slid, half-hopped to Fraser's side and pulled the gag down. "Are you okay?"

"A little stunned, that's all. How did you—?"

Pex's voice cut in. "What? There are two of you? What is this? Who are you?" He looked from Geoffrey to Fraser.

"Son, you don't want to do this," Fraser said, his voice sure and full of dignity despite the fact he was lying on his side, looking flustered. Geoffrey was trying to cut through the pantyhose with his keys.

Something seemed to break inside Pex. He scrambled up. "No. This is _impossible_!" He shook his head for a moment before turning around.

Anna was standing behind him, his gun in her hand. "Stay right where you are, Pex. I've already called the cops." She leaned over to the side and stared at both Geoffrey and Fraser. "I didn't know you had a twin brother," she said in a way that addressed them both.

Before long, Fraser was free. He walked toward Pex the way a person might approach a wild animal. "Pex Easton, you are suspected of sabotage and attempted murder." He had a length of pantyhose in his hand and was soon tying it around Pex's wrists. "You need not say anything. You have nothing to hope from any promise or favour and nothing to fear from any threat whether or not you say anything. Anything you do say may be used against you as evidence. . . ."

**********

"Way to pick an acolyte," Ray said as he saw Pex sitting in the back of a police car.

Fraser made a face. "It's not Darren's fault that he believed in someone only to see them turn around and commit crimes in his name." He looked at the floor. "He's not the only one who's been in that situation."

"Hey," Ray placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture brought Fraser back from his disastrous involvement with Victoria and into the here and now of being married to Ray. "I'm just shooting my mouth off, okay? Just," he shrugged a shoulder, "kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Hmm," Fraser replied. "From what I hear, other than being intent on 'rubbing Geoffrey out' as Dief would say, Pex was a rather excellent assistant."

"There you go, Frase, always trying to see the good in people." Ray bumped Fraser's chin with a soft fist.

It would have been a good moment to kiss had it not been for the not-so-discreet cough followed by the click-clack of a cane.

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. "I hear Darren's a little broken-hearted."

"Ah, so he's going to Lithuania then?" Fraser licked his lips.

"No. Quite the opposite. He told Anna that he's going to Brazil. Maybe he'll get lost in the Amazon and never come back. One can hope."

Fraser nodded.

"In any case," Geoffrey extended his right hand as he leaned his weight on the prop cane, "I want to thank you, Fraser, for watching my back."

"Even though I mangled your production of _Twelfth Night_?"

"Nah, you didn't. My notes were just too . . .," he tugged an ear, "scattered. As a matter of fact, I might let someone else direct it." Leaning toward Fraser and Ray, he lowered his voice. "I'm getting this itch under my skin to take on the Scottish play. But shhh, don't tell anyone. Don't want to get anyone's hopes up, you know? _Hamlet_ broke me, literally. Who knows how low I will go if I tackle Mackers?"

"It's been a pleasure and an honour, Geoffrey." Fraser smiled. "And if you do stage _Macbeth_, I hope Ray and I can come in for a show."

"Consider it your honeymoon present to us," Ray said before saying their good-byes and walking back to their car.

**********

"And so, the show will go on, eh, Frase?"

"_A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home full numbers_," Fraser quoted.

Ray stopped and turned to face him. "The hell does that mean?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"It's not important," Fraser said as he pulled Ray close and kissed him.

Unbeknown to either man, there were two figures standing off to the side, mouths agape in shock.

"Am I hallucinating?" Frank asked.

"Not since 1978, duckie," Cyril answered before nudging him away from the scene. "Leave those two to their fun. We'll have ours."

**Somewhere in the Northern Areas of the Borderlands . . .**

Oliver knocked his snow boots against the top step of the wooden porch. It had been nearly a week since the events with Geoffrey and Pex. By the second day of discussing it with Geoffrey, Oliver had grown bored and wandered down to the basement to look at the Macbeth notes. Maybe there was some angle he could work so that Geoffrey could direct it. Oliver knew his notes were brilliant, but it was up to Geoffrey to continue the legacy.

In any case, he read notebook after notebook and studied a myriad of sketches until that too grew tiresome. He was sitting down, his back pressed against three boxes filled with maquettes, when the realization hit him: he was missing Bob's company.

And so he bundled up and made the trek—by motorbike, thank you very much—early Thursday morning. A few hours of canasta, baccarat, anything with Bob and the boys would be rejuvenating.

The door opened before he could even knock. This time, however, instead of Henrik, Anton and Hellman, there was a crowd of men, none whom he recognized. He gave a tight smile, wondering if Bob had moved in the space of a week when a jovial "Oliver!" reached his ears. Some of the men started to murmur excitedly amongst themselves. Bob squeezed through until he was giving him a tight hug.

"Bob? I'm sorry. I thought we were due to play cards today. I know I should have called but, well, you know how phones are iffy most of—"

"No need to worry, Oliver. Today is Thursday. It's just that," Bob gave him a side smile. "I was painting the other day and talking about our adventure in New Burbage. Some of my friends got curious and I think it was Hector who suggested. . . ." His eyes lit up. "How would you feel about directing a play? Here I mean. In my house?"

Oliver was speechless.

"Joe over there," Bob pointed at a man who looked like he was wearing the 1950's male hunting line of the Sears catalogue, "did _Timon of Athens_ about, oh, sixty years ago? Plus, I promise you that those of us who lack, ahem, theatrical experience are known to memorize entire manuals."

He weighted his options. "Maybe if we do something light? Like, say, _The Two Noble Kinsmen_?

Bob gave him a bona fide thumb up. "Okay, let me introduce you. This here is the Group of Ten previously known as the Group of Seven. Jack over there has a deft hand on landscapes. I'm sure he can be the prop master. . . ."

Oliver couldn't help but think that Geoffrey's involvement with Mackers could wait another couple of weeks. He had time.

THE END


End file.
